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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088712">Avalanche</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ventricletastetest/pseuds/ventricletastetest'>ventricletastetest</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A lot of these tags are eventual because who knows, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Non-Graphic Violence, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Sexual Assault, Slow Burn, background petekey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:47:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>50,831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088712</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ventricletastetest/pseuds/ventricletastetest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is tired of feeling broken down and weak. Unlike other high school seniors, his only goal is to feel nothing at all. He's living his life on autopilot; To everyone around him, he's a lost cause, a walking shell of a person who once was - until he meets Gerard. But is it for better or for worse?</p><p> </p><p>*Emphasis on the trigger warning for drug addiction*</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Iero/Gerard Way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a rewrite of a fic I wrote on livejournal back in 2009, when I was very young and inexperienced. Rewriting it for shits and giggles as a writing challenge between me and an old friend to test how our writings have changed. </p><p>Feedback is deeply appreciated, the storyline may be cringey at times. But like I said it's a rewrite and I aso haven't written anything fandom related in over a decade, LOL.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A cool early November breeze crept it's way through the window, left slightly ajar from the previous night despite all warnings from the local meteorologist this week, waking him from his near comatose slumber. Frank groaned in protest, lazy sleep-intoxicated arms fumbling to pull the comforter up over his face, before the red interior of his eyelids indicating the day had in fact started, forced his eyes to open fast and wide. Limbs tangling in the process, he attempted to throw his comforter off of him, as if it had burned him while his eyes scanned back and forth in search of the time on his digital alarm clock. He looked down to see the small digital clock thrown haphazardly on the floor.<i> Fuck</i>, he thought, he must have tossed it trying to avoid the blaring sounds of his alarm this morning, <i>again.</i> He reached down to pick it up and<i> yup, Fuck, again</i>; it was 9:30am. He was very late. Panic crept through his chest when he realized he would have to get ready for school as quickly and quietly as possible to avoid an interaction with Dave on his way out. </p>
<p>He practically leaped out of his bed and immediately reached to his floor for the first pair of jeans and shirts, before smell-checking them while setting a mental reminder that cleaning his room was long overdue. The light grey, poster clad walls somehow looking the cleanest, despite the dust collecting on the guitars mounted to it, in comparison to his floor that was much more wrinkled clothing than black carpet, even the desk drawers were half open and overflowing with papers that scattered across the floor. He checked his reflection briefly after changing into his black Black Flag shirt layered over a thermal white long sleeved shirt paired with black jeans that were once considered Skinny. His jaw dropped slightly at his reflection, realizing maybe his mother did have a point mentioning  his recent weight loss last week, before grabbing the belt curled up in the night stand. He brushed his fingers through his hair in attempt to make it look more organized, that “purposely messy look” he heard people rave about, hoping no one would notice how desperately he needed a haircut after last year's mohawk grew out awkwardly without him noticing. </p>
<p>As he grabbed his backpack and headed towards his bedroom door, he heard a muffled cough from downstairs. Remembering the potential interaction with Dave, he turned and reached into his top nightstand drawer, fingertips searching for that small baggie, once filled with a handful of Xanax bars. Without looking down, he could feel that there was only one left and made another mental note that he had to reach out to Justin soon. He pulled the pill out of the bag, placed it on his night stand before placing a discarded piece of paper from the desk over it and pushing the alarm clock onto it to smash the pill into a small fine powder. When it was to his liking, he searched through the nightstand for an old straw and snorted the powder in several lines as fast as he could. He stood up fast, as he felt the blood rush to his head, along with a temporary feeling of euphoria and tried to gather his composure. He needed to feel numb to get past Dave, he needed to feel numb to walk the three short blocks to his school, and he needs to feel numb to get through the first half of his day.</p>
<p>After trying his hardest not to fall over while tying his shoes, he practically tip-toed out of his room and down the staircase, silently praying Dave would be half asleep on the living room couch and not notice him on his way out. As he grabbed the front doorknob he glanced over and was lucky today; Dave was sitting up and snoring quietly on the couch while the television buzzed quietly, the news channel most likely replaying this morning's headlines for the tenth time. Frank loathed his step father to no end and wished he could telepathically will his mother to find the courage to leave him. His mother and Dave had been together since Frank was ten or eleven, though his memories of the earlier years with Dave were practically a blur outside of remembering it being the first time he had seen his mothers eyes light up so bright or laugh so loud and genuine since his parents divorced. He remembers holidays finding meaning again, but all that essentially went out the window in Frank's opinion; he can barely remember how things went so downhill, just knowing it was around his freshman year of high school, but will never forget the first time Dave slapped him across the face, the first time Dave took a belt to his back, the first time he threw Frank down the stairs or how small his mother looked in the background each time, crying helplessly and pretending the pungent smell of alcohol on Dave didn't make her want to gag. But he couldn't look back on this now as he stumbled his way to school, eyes focused hard on the sidewalk as he attempted time and time again not to trip over his own numb feet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~*~*~*~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he finally made it to school, he had to ask the secretary at the front desk several times what period it was before he finally registered that she huffed, <i>“For the third time Mr. Iero, it's third.”</i> After signing himself in as tardy, he sauntered towards his third period class: English. Despite it feeling like an eternity by the time he made it to the third floor classroom, head still very hazy as the Xanax danced through his system, he realized it must've not taken that long, as Mrs. Kitts was only halfway through attendance when he crept in towards his seat. He was able to raise his hand marking himself present when she called out his last name, and let his mind run on autopilot as he nodded in and out of class until a tapping sound broke him out of his trance. When he looked up, the tapping was of a pale hand with long fingers on his desk. At the desk to his right, normally vacant, sat a kid with greasy black shoulder length hair, torso swimming in a baggy striped sweater.</p>
<p>“Hey, do you know where Art Room B2 is?”, his voice barely a whisper. Frank nodded, and as if scripted, the bell rang loudly. The greasy haired boy held up a finger signaling Frank to wait a minute as he quickly shoved his books into his messenger bag and Frank realized he had missed the entire English class, not even removing a single book from his backpack. When the boy's bag was hung loosely over his shoulder, Frank stood with him in unison. Frank's head was in a daze, his body felt like it was floating on an animated purple cloud while his feet felt full of lead, keeping him grounded. Surprisingly, he knew he'd be able to guide this kid to the art room because it was also Frank's fourth period class. </p>
<p>As they walked through the hallway, Frank felt overwhelmed. Bodies flooded the small halls, his gaze fixated on the floor as usual in attempt to avoid any attention or textbook style bullying he normally encountered. He almost forgot he was being followed until the boy's voice once again broke his trance. “Thank you for this. I'm Gerard, by the way.” Frank glanced up to see the boy's soft smile; it was crooked and sweet. Frank mumbled his own name as he turned the corner down another hall and a very familiar voice cut through the noise of the hallways.<b> “Looks like the junkie's got a boyfriend!”</b> The laughter and snickering of Paul's goons following his comment. Paul was easily 6'2”, popular for no reason outside of his conventional good looks. He had an athletic build with broad shoulders, a late gift from puberty two years ago, outside of the clear olive skin; the complete opposite of the face full of cystic acne and lanky figure he had all of freshman and sophomore year. It was as if all their classmates had completely forgotten, or maybe he just wasn't memorable before he got hot. Frank wouldn't forget though, because even if Paul pretended it never happened, he was Frank's childhood best friend until their falling out the summer before junior year. He shoved through Paul's group and opened the door to the art room ahead, Gerard following behind. </p>
<p>Frank sat at his usual table towards the back of the room and Gerard followed, claiming the seat beside him. As the rest of the class filled the room, Frank noticed Gerard pulling out a very worn out looking sketchbook and placing it on the table in front of him. “Is that something that normally happens to you?”, he asked, eyes intensely scanning Frank's face. Frank shrugged in response, he didn't want to make new friends, didn't care for his defense of Paul and his new friends being the only ones to ever show Frank negative attention,<i> any attention at all honestly</i>, especially for it to fall on deaf ears.</p>
<p>“That's shitty. You shouldn't let them talk to you like that or they'll never get off your back.” Frank looked up and caught an eye on Gerard's face. He spoke primarily through one side of his mouth, crooked, and his hazel eyes gleamed though his stare pierced through Frank's being. He flexed his fingers outward as he spoke, mannerisms awkward, but his face was almost pretty. Frank had learned the hard way and knew better than to try and get others to like him, he had stopped defending himself against remarks in the halls and rumors that spread last year. He shrugged again before mumbling, “I pay it no mind, dude. It doesn't matter.” Gerard furrowed his brows, glaring at him, his face a mix between frustration and confusion, “It doesn't matter the way all this high school bullshit doesn't matter, but you gotta stop the shitheads from thinking they can fuck with you before it's over or it'll be a long, <i>long</i> wait til graduation.”</p>
<p>At this point, Mr. Agnello, the art teacher, had announced he was beginning attendance. Frank always liked that Mr. Agnello just overlooked the classroom and took attendance silently as opposed to making the students listen closely and pay attention enough to raise their own hands when their names were called. Frank didn't want to be a dick, but he didn't care for small talk, making friends or talking about something he not only felt was a personal matter, but <i>embarrassing</i>. He knew he didn't have a spine when it came to defending himself, but it's because he was <i>tired</i> of it all. <i>That's what the drugs were for</i>, he thought. He shrugged again at Gerard, “Who cares? Not your problem, dude”</p>
<p>Gerard's eyes widened at his response and he scoffed, “Not my problem, <i>anymore</i>. Keep letting them talk to you like you're dog shit and it might be <i>my</i> problem. I don't let that shit fly.” Frank didn't really understand why Gerard, a kid who had known him for all of five minutes cared, and couldn't even think of a response either, his head still hazy and swirling in a cloud of forgetfulness, so he shrugged and sat there, averting his gaze to the carvings in the table. He knew if he stopped responding, the kid would probably drop it and allow him to return to autopilot.</p>
<p>And he was right; as the period continued, everyone went to silently working on their assignments while he predictably zoned in and out. Random sounds of the electric pencil sharpener in the corner of the room or papers shuffling breaking him from his daze, he'd glance over at Gerard's hands; one holding a pencil tightly in quick but precise movements, while the other hand would purposely smudge at the page for shading or swiftly wipe away eraser shavings. Seconds before the bell rang, he caught glimpse of Gerard's face, eyes focused on the page through a single strand of black locks, mouth creased into a sharp frown, tongue slightly protruding from the corner of his mouth. His sketch unlike anything Frank had seen in classrooms, the artwork far above their grade level, the style cartoonish but graphic. Frank quickly looked away and grabbed his backpack in time for the bell to ring, making it through the next few periods back on autopilot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~*~*~*~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the final bell rang, Frank was feeling sober and uncomfortable; his anxiety had broken through his consciousness as soon as the drugs wore off a few periods ago, growing stronger by the hour. He walked off to the far corner of the school parking lot, where many of the student smokers hung around before the buses left to socialize and smoke. He didn't have anyone to socialize with, not anymore, and he didn't really know why he came here anymore, considering he wasn't pressured to rush through his smoke to catch the bus, he had been a walker for years. Cigarette hanging from his mouth, he quickly patted his pockets for his lighter, when an oddly familiar soft-spoken voice cut through his silent panic.<br/>“Need a light?”</p>
<p>He looked towards the voice to see the new kid, smirking at him before holding out a hand to light Frank's cigarette with a lighter. His cheeks burned as he made direct eye contact with Gerard before inhaling deeply and looking away as quickly as he could. Now that he was sober, he noticed how the sunlight that crept through the overhanging trees found it's way to emphasize the flecks of green in Gerard's hazel eyes. Gerard chuckled softly as he lit his own cigarette and Frank could feel his eyes burning holes into him, assumingly waiting for Frank to start a conversation that he had no intention of starting.</p>
<p>After a few moments of awkward silence outside of the conversations of other students several feet away, Gerard was the first to speak up, “So, what's your deal?” His voice somehow startled Frank and he looked over, blatant confusion written across his face. “What's your <i>deal?</i> Didn't see human doormat in your cards.. or masochist for that matter. So unless you're method acting for a shitty protagonist in a John Green novel, I don't get you.”</p>
<p>Frank was speechless, mouth agape, staring at Gerard with blatant shock. “Don't be coy; I've heard the rumors, Iero”, Gerard muttered. Frank didn't even want to wrap his mind around how many things he had heard about himself, let alone the things written across the school bathroom stalls. He always shoved it deep down, trying his hardest to remain unaffected. He set yet another mental reminder that he had to talk to Justin as soon as possible to re-up; he couldn't do this 'high school shit' sober. Swallowing back the questions he so desperately wanted to ask, fueled by his insecurities and self-doubt, a rage boiled inside him. <i>Fuck this kid</i>, he thought, as his words escaped his lips before he was able to censor himself.  “Why the fuck do you wanna know?”, he spat. Gerard, unaffected by the ice laced in Frank's words, smiled to himself and asked cooly, “Do you want an ally or not?”</p>
<p>Frank froze, taking a deep drag of his cigarette before exhaling slowly through his nostrils and responding, “What's <i>your</i> deal?”</p>
<p>Gerard's composure remained calm, cool and collected, “What're your plans this weekend?”</p>
<p>His question broke Frank's pseudo reality, now realizing it was Friday..he had thought it was a Monday or Tuesday; that the week was just beginning and this kid was lucky enough to start in the early days of a quote unquote ~New Beginning~... he looked at Gerard briefly, now noticing despite the baggy, grey and black striped sweater, that he was wearing <i>very</i> tight dark blue jeans that hugged every curve of his lower body a if they were hanging on for dear life. “Nothing.. why?”, he managed to choke out, trying to hide his newfound discovery of how perfectly the dark blue back pockets hugged the curve of Gerard's ass.</p>
<p>Gerard reached a hand down to the side pocket of his messenger bag, pulling out a Sharpie marker from one of the side pockets. He looked at Frank for a moment, before grabbing Frank's hand, turning it over so his palm was facing the sky. Without asking for permission, he scribbled onto Frank's palm and mumbled, “If you want allies”, before capping the marker and walking off to the right of the school's entrance.</p>
<p>Frank looked down to see a phone number scrawled across his palm. Without thinking, he used his clean hand to grab his phone from a back pocket and entered the phone number into his phone under 'Gerard English/Art'</p>
<p>Maybe he could get used to having a friend..<i>or 'an ally'</i>"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Feedback is deeply appreciated!! I'm not very happy with this chapter at all, I feel like a lot of it was for plot development. I promise it will pick up cause the biggest challenge of rewriting this is realizing I'm not a fan of the original storyline and I'm trying to keep it as similar as possible!</p><p>Also wanted to clarify that the original fic was written in 2008, so this takes place roughly around then. Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank couldn't remember the last time he walked home so fast, his thoughts racing. <i>Should he text Gerard? What would he even say? Why would Gerard even want to talk to him? Is this another trick? </i>  The thoughts racing through his head quickly came to a halt as he approached the front door of his home. He held his breath as he turned the doorknob and was immediately reminded there was nothing about this day to be excited about.</p><p>His mother and Dave were heard bickering about what Frank could only assume wasn't anything important.. it normally wasn't. <i>“Oh so you actually graced the school with your presence today, huh, kid?”<i>, Dave slurred. As Frank closed the front door, kicking his shoes off on the floor-mat next to the staircase to the right-hand side, he caught a whiff of Dave's breath; today's mix brought to you by cheap beer from the local gas station mixed with top shelf whiskey that Frank's mom had hid away in the back of the basement for “special occasions”. The unfortunate truth of those occasions being the first few New Years that Linda and Frank would've unexpectedly spent alone after the divorce... Things change I guess, Frank thought.</i></i></p><p>
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    <i>“Leave him alone today, this is about us!”, Linda's shriek broke through the room's tension as Frank took the opportunity to rush up the stairs and close his bedroom door behind him as quietly as possible; he had learned from past experiences that these moments were not times to draw attention to himself. He plopped down onto his bed, grabbing his phone out of his pocket and sending a text to Justin without thinking.<br/>
<i><br/>
-You around? need something strong</i></i>
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      <i>-wats up frnky? Only got sum hardr sht til nxt week</i>
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      <i>-whatever $60 gets me</i>
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    <i>Without a second thought, Frank crawled under his bed and grabbed the old shoebox tucked away in the deepest corner. This shoebox was probably his most prized possession, outside of the three guitars mounted on his walls. While his mother would probably be proud of him for this, he could never risk Dave finding out about the money he had managed to save stored neatly in the box.</i>
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    <i> He was too young for a bank account that wouldn't be linked to his mother – or Dave. Every birthday, every holiday, every minor academic achievement since his parent's divorce had been saved. Originally, he was using the money to save up for a new guitar as his mother had advised, but his two most recent guitars had still been gifts; his family under the assumption there was no possible way for a child to demonstrate enough self control to save up more than $20. When his parents originally separated, Frank's father still made contact with him; the first six months filled with frequent visits, practically every Friday his father would come pick him up to spend the weekends at his new apartment. The weekends made Frank feel guilty for enjoying so much time with his father while knowing his mother was probably crying in bed at home, or strategically holding teabags to her eyes to hide the swelling her tears caused before leaving for work. But Frank adored the way he felt so much closer to his dad than ever before; knowing even the pangs of guilt were mutual; each weekend his father was practically showering him in gifts, or throwing money at him for the most trivial tasks such as <i>“Hey Frankie, can you take this bag of trash out and grab the mail?” </i>Frank would comply without whining, he <i>wanted</i> to help out in anyway he could, and he'd return to fifty bucks and the praise he so desperately craved from his father. Once the weekend visits dwindled down to random phone calls, Frank's father would attempt to make up for the emotional distance with large checks in the mail for each holiday, and Frank pretended not to notice how the birthday check was doubled the regular amount the following year when his father's name stopped showing up on the Caller ID. Frank tried his hardest to pretend he was grateful when he opened the Christmas card with $600 folded inside, the morning after he listened to an out-of-service message when calling his father on Christmas Eve. He refused to show the way his heart shattered in his chest when his eyes scanned the envelope to show no return-address; his father's discreet way of saying goodbye. And he stopped letting his heartache show when he realized the word of his father's absence must've gotten out to his extended family; His father's side of the family ironically started sending him similar checks in the mail for a year after his father had stopped, before they too, lost contact. Frank was raised to believe that family came over everything, <i>”blood was thicker than water”</i>, and so on and so forth. He knew everyone was a hypocrite, and held his tongue when he desperately wanted to mention how they all lied to him. His father's family was huge; grand-parents, a handful of aunts and uncles, dozens of cousins that spent all previous holidays laughing and loving with him, while his mother's family only gave him an aunt on her third marriage, living across the country with his only cousin, too self-absorbed in her new marriage to ever call his mother after Frank's father left. Frank pretended he didn't notice, and it came easier when his mother started dating Dave. Somewhere deep, <i>deep</i> inside himself Frank understood why his mother hadn't left Dave; Why would someone willingly put themselves through that again? The painful loneliness that followed being abandoned by someone who took an oath to God to love you unconditionally, and you them in return? Who would willingly choose to cry themselves to sleep in a bed that was now too big, force themselves to buy anything to fill the empty spaces in the closets? Who would willingly go back to forcing themselves to smile and laugh and love the boy who's face was practically copied and pasted from the first man to leave you, all alone? Who would submit to loneliness when you found another who vowed to love you in sickness and in health, and his escalating sickness of addiction the last few years insured in some fucked up way that he would never leave you, because you were still the best thing to ever happen to him? Frank's mother loved Frank sure, there was no doubt about it, but his anxiety couldn't stop whispering to him that his mother loved Dave more simply because he was the opposite of Frank's father. His anxiety told him his mother turned a blind eye to his split lips, black eyes, mysterious bruises, that she drowned out Frank's screams with her own hysterical sobs on the opposite side of the house when Dave was beating him in a drunken rage because she knew one day Frank would leave her just like his father did; history swore it was in his bloodline to abandon. <i>It doesn't matter if blood is thicker than water if the blood is septic</i>.</i>
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    <i>Frank clenched his eyes shut, quickly shook his head and swallowed the knot in his throat as he grabbed $60 from his savings and shoved the box back under his bed. He needed to shut off the self-sabotaging thoughts that tornadoed through his mind. He listened through his bedroom door for silence, and habitually tiptoed down the stairs in a rush, putting his shoes on and running out the door before anyone had the chance to ask questions. No one really asked him questions anymore though, aside from his mother in a concerned tone when they'd bump into each other in the doorway on her way to or from work, or when Dave was looking to antagonize him. He raced to his meeting place with Justin, which normally took 20 minutes to get to on foot, but he had learned it was better to walk to and from than attempt to ride his bike home high.. too many times had he thought he'd break his nose from flying over the handles when his attention drifted and he hit a curb – or a mailbox – or a bush. Yeah, it was much better to take the extra time to walk.</i>
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    <i>He approached the abandoned house in the culdesac of Sycamore Street, the grass overgrown from the poor maintenance done every few months since the house had been left vacant nearly five years prior. Frank walked through the opening in the fence leading to the backyard, practically hidden behind an overgrown fir tree.</i>
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    <i>He thinks back to the first time he came here a few years ago. Of course it had been with Paul, they had grown up together and were practically inseparable throughout freshman and sophomore year. Despite Paul living a little over a town away, they attended the same Catholic elementary school, and their fathers had become friends as well, which in turn saved Frank from explaining a divorce he didn't understand to his best friend; his own father had explained it to him. Frank and Paul had never been popular kids as they got older, but they had a small circle of friends, mainly in thanks to Paul who had always been much more outgoing, a charismatic class-clown while Frank refused to rehome from the shell of his childhood shyness. One of Paul's friends had invited them to a party the week following the final day of sophomore year in the abandoned house that Frank currently sat on a decaying swing in the yard of. Outside of smoking pot or drinking a few beers stolen from Paul's dad when he wasn't home, the two boys hadn't ever really experimented. They stood on the front steps of the abandoned house and chugged liquor Paul's friend had brought before entering; the rest of the night a blur of nicotine and pot smoke, they drowned in cheap liquor before someone offered them ecstasy that Paul encouraged Frank to take with him. The memory was bittersweet in the sense that while nothing bad had happened that night and the boys were able to get home safely without any repercussions outside of the dehydration and aching jaws that haunted them the next morning, it was essentially the beginning of the end: The party had then felt like it strengthened the bond between him and his best friend, the party had then taught him how to shut his brain off and live in the moment, but only when he allowed synthetic chemicals to tuck him in under a blanket of tingling limbs, numb lips and all anxieties or bad memories locked away. It was the beginning of a spiral Frank was still completely in denial of.</i>
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    <i>Again, he clenched his eyes shut, shook his head as if to shake away the memories like an Etch-a-Sketch toy. He checked his phone for the time and saw a new text from Justin letting him know that he'd be there shortly.  He twisted and turned in the tarnished swing and thought about texting Gerard. At this point school had let out two hours ago and he argued back and forth in his head whether it was too soon or not. He typed out “hey its frank” but fought back sending it. He stared at the screen until he was startled by a voice. He quickly got to his feet, shoving his phone back in his pocket and greeted Justin. He was significantly taller than Frank, lanky with a short black mohawk and practically ten years his senior. He worked nights as a bartender at a local venue when he wasn't screaming politically charged lyrics in his punk band on the stage, and when he wasn't doing that – well, he was selling drugs, mainly at parties but avoided questions beyond that when Frank asked. He stopped asking questions outside of prices and how soon he could meet up long ago.</i>
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    <i>“Hey kid, how you been?”, his tone always friendly but extremely neutral. “You know, same shit”, Frank mumbled in response, “So what you got this time?” Justin shook his head, eyes looked tired and sad, “Dope, it's all I've got left til I re-up next weekend. I threw in a few bars I had leftover.” Now it was clear why his eyes were sad, he had sold Frank dope several times the past few months and expressed more each time how he didn't want Frank to end up like the junkies he'd seen, the second time he even gave Frank a Narcan kit, praying he'd never have to use it. Frank didn't understand Justin's concern and sometimes doubted it was real, despite the shaking of Justin's voice and sincerity of his glassy eyes. But if he was being honest, he didn't care; he'd seen the videos in health class warning the dangers of heroin, but it was also his favorite high. It wasn't like the pills that kept him at a steady high until they wore off, the rush he felt snorting dope made him feel like he was suddenly full of helium, flying up to the ceiling, his mind focused and sharp; enough time to enjoy it before he felt his helium body catch a small tear, deflating as he felt like he was sinking to the ground, and then beneath it, his body felt warm from the inside out before his mind went blank and he couldn't focus, it was like a dream. He believed if he wasn't doing it everyday, he'd be fine. He still went to school, <i>sometimes</i> and he had a home, had his own money, he wasn't shooting up, scratching at his arms and pawning his mother's silver cutlery like the bad actors in the D.A.R.E. Program videos. He was fine, he reassured himself over and over again. </i>
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    <i>He nodded at Justin, held out his cash and made the exchange before thanking him and shoving the baggies into his pockets and exiting the yard. As he walked away from the culdesac, he felt his phone buzz in his back pocket and sighed. It was a very rare occurrence that Dave or his mother would call him, and he didn't want to deal with them right now. He reached into his pocket for the baggie, fingering one of the Xanax bars before slipping one out discreetly and popping it into his mouth. It wouldn't work as fast as snorting it, but he was desperate and in public. Normally he'd get high before leaving that yard, but the times Justin sold him dope, he'd stay and tell Frank to leave first, claiming he didn't want him to overdose in the vacant lot. Frank didn't think Justin would ever hurt him, but he didn't want to take any chances; disregarding the size difference, he'd <i>seen</i> Justin on stage, and didn't want the pent up energy he knew Justin had to be directed at him. He took his phone out of his pocket, the lock screen reading: <b>Gerard English/Art: 2 Unread Messages</b> He gasped when he realized he must've hit send earlier when putting his phone away. </i>
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      <i>-Glad you reconsidered me for the ally position<br/>
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    <i>Frank scoffed to himself; <i>Plans for the night? Of course, getting high as a kite and falling into his bed like an early grave draped in velvet</i>. But he couldn't say that. Frank didn't care what rumors Gerard had allegedly heard, but he hoped he understood they were always exaggerated, or blatant lies. He knew the main rumors that circulated, who started them and partially why they had started... It all came down to one person, and he hated admitting to himself it still hurt him. When he first heard the rumors spread the beginning of junior year, it initially felt like a jagged blade straight to his chest; pain radiating through his chest as he could only hear his own rapid, unsteady breathing through the chaos of the hallways, his head felt like television static as he imagined the blood filling his pericardial sac, the pressure felt in his heart convincing him his ventricles not expanding fully. He had visualized it so vividly as he struggled to run straight to the nurses office, speech slurred and shaky as he stuttered out demands that the school nurse call an ambulance, <i>he “<b>needed</b> a pericardiocentesis performed fast; a needle removing the excess blood surrounding his heart or he would definitely bleed out internally!” </i> The reality of the situation was he was just having an anxiety attack, and his dreams of becoming a paramedic only fueled his anxiety in such a state of panic that he had convinced himself he was experiencing a cardiac tamponade. The nurse forced him to sit and breathe into a paper bag before throwing him back to the lions. He was sent back to her office twice more that day before she informed him she was calling his mother to pick him up – but didn't tell him his mother was busy at work and his step-father would be picking him up instead. </i>
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    <i>But as time went by and the drugs more frequently shielded him from the constant remarks, the pain lightened. The visualization of suffocating from the inside out gradually demoting itself to a quick piercing jab, like getting stung by a bee or stepping on a thumbtack. He would hold his breath and keep his head down. He convinced himself it hurt less, but it still wasn't any less humiliating. <i>Fuck it</i>, he thought as he sent a quick <i>nm, wby?</i> to Gerard in attempt to play it cool, as he felt his nerves settle, Xanax kicking in, and he reached to open his front door.</i>
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    <i>He walked in and noticed Dave on the couch in the living room to the left, there was a small cooler next to the couch presumably full of beer. This was a new thing the past month, Dave would fill a small cooler with a 12 pack, as if he had finally learned after the fifth time patching up the wall in the hallway that it was much better for everyone if he stayed in one place in comparison to stumbling and inevitably busting a hole in the hall, or that one time Frank got mouthy and Dave had drunkenly grabbed him by the shoulders and insured his shoulder blades and back of his head would form a new hole. He glanced over again and his mom smiled at him as she held Dave's left hand, head resting on his shoulder as he idly watched the television. This was also new, he rarely saw much affection exchanged between them anymore, let alone them spending much time together, especially since Dave lost his last job six months ago and Frank's mother took on more shifts. He smiled back at her as he walked up the stairs, once again feeling full of lead while his feet felt like they were hovering their way into his room when he was startled by the vibration of his phone. Gerard was <i>calling</i>.</i>
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    <i>“Uh, h-h-hello?”, Frank stuttered out, sitting on the edge of his full-sized bed, not sure why he was so nervous about talking to Gerard. “Frank. What are you doing right now?”, somehow the smirk on Gerard's face was audible. “N-nothing?”Gerard chuckled softly, most likely because Frank's stuttering made him sound scared, “Got a curfew?” Frank mumbled out a soft “no”, before Gerard ended the call with a “Great, text me your address and I'll see you in fifteen.” Frank sat there frozen for a minute, fighting the urge to lay back and drift to sleep. He got up, thinking it was probably necessary to change out of the clothes he wore all day to school, glaring at his bedroom and reminding himself <i>yet again</i> his room was overdue to be cleaned. He searched around before grabbing a pair of black jeans with torn knees, a once tightly-fitted band tee and his black, zip-up Leatherface hoodie. He got to the floor to crawl under his bed to his shoebox bank and grabbed some cash before returning it to it's hiding place. He stood up, far too fast and smiled to himself as his body tingled, his lips felt numb. He reached into his denim jacket from earlier, removing the baggies from the pocket and placing the dope bag safely under notebooks inside the top drawer of his nightstand before eyeing down the bag other bag which had three more bars inside. He snapped one in half, shoving one half into the front pocket of his jeans and placed the rest in his nightstand with the rest of his stash. <i>Just in case I need to take more of the edge off</i>, he told himself.</i>
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    <i>His phone buzzed on his bed from a notification that read: <b>Gerard English/Art: Outside</b><br/>
He grabbed his wallet and phone and hurried down the stairs, still a difficult task trying not to trip over his own feet. He slid on a pair of checkered slip-on Vans, not wanting to take forever willing his fingers to remember how to tie his shoes in a timely manner, or faceplant onto the floor leaning down to tie laces – he had made that mistake before and regretted it when he woke up the next day to a swollen lump on his forehead. “'m goin out, Ma,” he called over, hand already opening the front door to avoid the conversation altogether. “Hold it right there. Going out? Where?”, he froze in his tracks as his mother spoke up. He turned and noticed Dave wasn't there. His mother read his expression and pointed back, signaling Dave was in the kitchen. Frank nodded, avoiding eye contact before telling her he was going out with a friend from school. Her eyes lit up and before she could start asking questions, he told her his friend had already been waiting outside and she nodded. He headed out the door and shook his head to himself knowing he wouldn't hear the end of this later. It wouldn't have been reason to start conversation two years ago, in fact he used to go out frequently and if he weren't out, he was walking in with Paul, begging his mom to keep Dave away from embarrassing him. Even Paul didn't like Dave, though Frank believed Paul's disdain for Dave only started when Frank became his punching bag the summer leading up to freshman year; He had ran all the way to Paul's house with tear-stained cheeks and a bright purple, swollen left eye.</i>
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    <i>He looked up and saw a navy blue sedan parked in front of his house, the passenger window rolled down to reveal Gerard smirking. Frank tried to force a soft smile as he walked up to the car and got in. “Hey”, his voice practically a whisper. Gerard rolled his eyes and turned the radio up as he started to drive. They sat in a silence that Frank found painfully awkward, once again thanking the Xanax Gods for taking his ability to feel any anxiety. Gerard, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the silence, softly humming to himself as Smashing Pumpkin's Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness album played through the car's speakers. Frank tapped his foot, thankful Gerard had good taste in music before the car pulled into a driveway and came to a halt roughly fifteen minutes later.</i>
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    <i>The boys exited the car and when they walked in the door were greeted by a taller, lanky boy in black thick-rimmed glasses with dirty blonde hair styled into what Frank could only call “Misfits influenced”. It had clearly lost some battles to a hair straightener, and the front pieces resembled a deathlock, while the rest stuck out messily under a beanie. “This is my brother Mikey”, Gerard announced as he continued walking through the house. Frank waved gently before following after Gerard. The house was full of very muted tones, barely any splashes of color and each room within Frank's field of vision reminded him of the floor models in furniture stores or commercials. Despite how recently they must've moved here, the home barely looked lived-in. There was a massive living room to the right of the front door, and Frank could only catch a glimpse of the large fireplace and several couches that lined the wall. To his right, there was a large staircase next to a room that looked like some sort of office. Frank looked up and followed Gerard through a large kitchen with white walls that were painfully bright, especially in contrast to the granite countertops, and Frank felt himself staring back at his own feet to avoid the harsh brightness. Gerard opened a door in the far corner of the kitchen and walked down a flight of stairs to the basement.</i>
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    <i>At the bottom of the basement stairs was a large open room; one side had a television mounted to the wall above a bookshelf full of DVD's and books in front of a small coffee table and couch, resembling a small living room. Several feet behind the couch was a queen-sized bed, and a desk in the corner. The condition of the room made Frank feel much better about his own mess; the desk was covered in paint splotches, stacks of textbooks on the floor next to it as half-used canvases were scattered around the desk, ripped out pages everywhere, and there were several piles of clothes on the floor on the other side of the bed, along with an overflowing waste paper basket next to a dresser that also had paint splattered across the tops of it, littered with crumpled up sheets of paper. “Yeah try not to judge me, it's a mess”, Gerard laughed, breaking Frank from his thoughts. “It's fine, my room's much worse”, Frank lied in attempt to seem polite. Despite his hazy mind, he still felt nervous for some reason. Gerard sat on the couch, motioning for Frank to follow him and have a seat. He started a conversation with Frank about his hoodie, which lead to them discussing movies and Frank felt like he was genuinely enjoying it, outside of how hard he had to fight to remember the words as they left his mouth; He couldn't remember the last time he was expected to participate in a conversation while he was high. While the Xanax freed him from his anxieties, it also stripped his ability to focus and left him stumbling over his own words, hoping for the first time that his sentences recognized anything comprehensible. The only thing he could focus on was the intensity of Gerard's eye contact and the animation of his hands as he spoke, frequently opening his hands out wide with his palms up. Without any recollection of the conversation ending, Frank noticed Gerard stood up and walked around the coffee table to look through the bookshelf.</i>
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    <i>Gerard was wearing a grey fitted long sleeved shirt and tight black jeans that had Frank wondering if Gerard owned any pants in his own size. Time was difficult to have any concept of when he was high, and he silently prayed he wasn't staring too long as Gerard reached for a DVD on the bottom shelf, on his hands and knees, hips twisting as he balanced himself on his forearm. Frank felt his face get hot as Gerard quickly stood up, even though he wasn't looking at Frank. He grabbed his phone from the coffee table, typed for a second before turning around and putting the DVD in the player. He sat back down next to Frank and a few seconds later, Frank was startled by the sound of footsteps coming down the basement stairs. Gerard's brother had entered with a handful of snacks that he placed on the table in front of them before also joining them on the couch on the other side of Gerard. </i>
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    <i>As the movie began to play, Frank could hear the brothers sharing their own commentaries and laughing, but for the life of him could not translate their sounds into anything remotely understandable. He zoned in and out, hoping in the back of his head that his silence didn't come off as strange, hoped that he wouldn't drift off.</i>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank fought to open his eyes, they felt heavy and dried by sleep. He had no recollection of getting home, his last memory was excusing himself to use the bathroom under the basement staircase in the corner of Gerard's bedroom. He remembers using his school ID to crush up the half Xanax stored in his pocket, on the bathroom counter and running the water as he snorted it. He couldn't remember anything past that. Clenching his eyes shut, he hoped he didn't embarrass himself in front of Gerard and his brother, he didn't need to add more fuel to the rumors at school that seemed to haunt him. He cringed at the thought and mentally cursed at himself for being so foolish, to think there was any chance at all he could push himself through a new friendship, mentally swearing to himself that if he gets another chance to spend time with Gerard, he can't be high for it, he'll have to push through the anxiety, shake off the nerves and tough it out. He opened his eyes, engulfed under a wave of confusion when he saw the dim back-light of a television in the pitch black room. His eyes practically bulged out of his head as he realized he <i>wasn't</i> home.</p>
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<p>He sat up quickly, feeling his body's heat rise from his toes all the way up to his face; he was mortified. He tried to fight the panic raging through his mind, the sudden heaviness in his chest. He tried to keep his voice down as he repeatedly hissed out curses under his breath, reaching forward on the couch for his phone; surely he can sneak out of Gerard's house unnoticed and hopefully find his way home on foot. <i>Shit, fuck, no, god no. </i> He heard a soft groan as his hands aggressively grabbed at the couch cushions and immediately realized Gerard had also never left the couch, and he had just <i>grabbed his fucking thigh</i>. His body immediately froze as Gerard stirred before reaching up to rub the sleep from his own eyes. “Oh hey”, his voice a groggy whisper as he reached for the remote and the television's Home screen lit up almost too quickly and he hissed, shutting his eyes as the screen illuminated half of the room, far too brightly. Frank came to his senses and withdrew his hand quickly, still trying to process what was happening, trying to will away the blush of his cheeks. Frank averted his eyes to the floor, trying to compose himself when he saw his cell phone under the coffee table, reached down and grabbed it, immediately checking the time. It was only 11:00pm – he'd only gotten to Gerard's around 6:30pm the latest. “When did I fall asleep?”, Frank thought aloud, not realizing Gerard could hear him. “I dunno, maybe eight-ish? We only realized you fell asleep when the first movie ended and Mikey was heading upstairs.. Put on another movie and didn't wanna wake you, I must've passed out too”, Gerard said softly as he stood up to turn the lights on.</p>
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<p>Frank remained silent, not sure of what to say or just how to play this off without digging himself any deeper. What seventeen year old fell asleep that early on a Friday night? Why didn't Gerard seem mad, or even confused that he fell asleep at his house, so abruptly? Gerard walked back over to the couch, plopping down next to Frank and Frank could feel his stare burning into him. “Must've been a long first day for you to fall asleep that early, huh? I'm sorry for falling asleep, I guess I haven't been sleeping much lately”, Frank lied for the sake of breaking the silence. He took a chance and met Gerard's gaze, who now looked completely puzzled for a second before he chuckled, shaking his head, “It wasn't my first day.” Frank raised his brows, there was no way Gerard had been going to school with him all year.. the high school wasn't exactly city-status in attendance, but average, plus the only reason they even interacted at all was because Gerard had asked him for directions to one of the art rooms. As if reading his mind, Gerard laughed again before explaining, “Frank, my first day was Monday. There were a few issues with my schedule throughout the week but from what I'd heard, <i>you</i> didn't show up til today.” Frank mumbled an “oh”, remembering Sunday night. His mother had asked him and Dave to eat dinner together <i> 'as a family' </i> which really meant they'd sit in silence while his mother repeatedly try to make small talk that got Frank and Dave to interact with each other in a pleasant manner. It was his mother's way of mentally recovering from a blow-out between Frank and Dave, the Sunday dinner her attempt to erase Dave's hands at Frank's throat Saturday afternoon when Frank's progress report had shown up in the mail; Dave's drunken rage sought out Frank's dwindling grades so quick in the school year as a scapegoat. Frank spent all Saturday night and Sunday morning in a haze, practically catatonic from the amount of pills he'd railed. He'd fallen asleep at the dinner table, unintentionally of course, but it might as well have been on purpose to spite Dave as per his reaction. Dave woke him up by throwing his full plate at the wall behind Frank, shattering instantly. And of course, Frank got mouthy before he could even fully process that he was even sitting at the dinner table, resulting in a a fistful of the back of Frank's collar being dragged upstairs, Dave muttering about lessons of respect the whole time. Frank's face got slammed into his bedroom door frame, to which he didn't ask but told his mother he wouldn't be going to school with the bruise, lying about the questions his teachers would ask about his home life from a small bruise on his cheekbone. The reality of the situation was wanting to lay in bed with his headphones on, high as a kite, pretending he didn't exist for as long as he could. </p>
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<p>“You don't have to be home anytime soon, right? You said you didn't have a curfew”, Gerard's voice broke through Frank's thoughts. He shook his head and looked up at Gerard, who was smirking and pulling a bottle of vodka out from under the couch. Frank stared at the bottle, mentally scolding himself for even considering it for a second, he couldn't throw himself back into a stupor in front of Gerard, especially if it meant diving into the deep end of loose lips, nausea and a potential hangover. “It's not going to kill you! Come on,  it's a Friday night and I haven't been able to go out since moving!”, Gerard exclaimed. Frank was never one to give into peer pressure, and he wasn't exactly sure why the second he told himself to put his foot down and decline, his own voice betrayed him with an insecure “Sure” accompanied by a shrug. Gerard's eyes lit up as he opened the bottle and took a large swig before passing it to Frank with wide, excited eyes. Frank took his own swig before scrunching his face up at the bitter taste; he wasn't a fan of drinking, not since he lost his friends. The poisons he defiled his body with made him feel good, magnetized his body to the comfort of his mattress, grounded him while turning his mind off, not allowing him to feel too grounded,<i> too</i> bound to the body that more often than not felt like a cage; he swore the skin coating his bones sometimes felt like saran wrap, a plastic film he couldn't breathe in, a vacuum-sealed sac that kept all the cruel words of the world scattered inside, letting out nothing but a bad reputation. Alcohol didn't free him from that, and while he had fun in the past drinking with then-friends, he'd seen daily for the past few years how explosively it could release harbored rage and previously swallowed insecurities, allowing them to run rampant without an ounce of relief.. Dave was proof of that.</p>
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<p>Broken from his thoughts again, he heard footsteps and laughter upstairs, handed the bottle back to Gerard without peeling his eyes off the ceiling. “That's probably Mikey and his little 'friend'. My parents are out for the night and Mikey hasn't been able to have friends over for two weeks”, Gerard rolled his eyes, using air-quotes at the word<i> friend</i>, “they'll probably come down to bother us any minute now.” Frank perceived Mikey as awkward and serious, even his commentary on the movie earlier with Gerard was spoken softly. He couldn't picture such loud sounds coming from Mikey or anyone he would spend time with. Then again, Frank didn't know him, and even while Gerard's personality seemed to contrast with his brother's, they shared an awkwardness in different ways. Gerard took another two swigs before handing the bottle to Frank's shaking hands. He still felt anxious, brain overthinking his every slight move, he didn't want to get plastered in front of Gerard, didn't want to stare at his desks counting down the minutes until the periods ended sitting next to Gerard come Monday. He took a smaller sip from the bottle before passing it back to Gerard as his prediction proved to be accurate; the sound of footsteps coming down the basement steps followed by giggling and a knock on the bedroom door. Gerard called out and in trampled his brother with a shorter, olive-toned teen with black, blatantly straightened hair into a fringe nearly covering one of his eyes. Frank silently gasped, not expecting the air-quoted friend to be another <i>man.</i> The guy's eyes went wide as he ran towards them, jumping over the back of the couch, forcefully sliding down between Frank and Gerard causing Gerard to scowl immediately. “Oh <i>come on</i>, don't give me that face. You know you missed me, Gee”, he smirked before forcing Gerard into a hug. For a split second – and <i>only a second</i>,  Frank felt a small pang of jealousy. He didn't know Gerard, and at this point in the night he was only almost admitting to himself that he hoped Gerard could just be his friend, nothing more; It was something to look forward to if he played his cards right tonight, a friend to take away the stabbing feeling in his chest everyday at school, something to lighten the blows of every painful reminder of just how lonely he was, this was his only chance. But still, he couldn't deny that he was attracted to Gerard. He had no interest in relationships or sex at all, and definitely no intentions of developing those interests in a straight guy, not to mention the only friend Frank would probably make before graduating by the skin of his teeth. But in that <i>second</i>, Frank was jealous of the man that so casually imposed on Gerard's personal space  or how confidently he taunted him. Frank missed the rest of the interaction, once again stuck inside his head and cursing himself for drinking because his head was already buzzing in a bad way, an unfamiliar way that made him more nervous. When he glanced up, the boy was turning to him and placing out his hand for an informally loose handshake, “Hey I'm Pete”, he laughed. Frank introduced himself, shaking his hand. Pete got up to sit on the floor next to Mikey, opposite side of the coffee table from Frank and Gerard. Mikey grabbed the vodka bottle from Gerard and Frank exhaled in relief that another body would distract Gerard from directly passing the bottle back to him. The three made small talk as Pete complimented the brothers' new house and asked questions about Gerard's new school, the conversation eventually shifting to mutual interests they had all shared. And while Frank was buzzed, he was still able to contribute to the conversations, not remembering the last time anyone had ever actually shown seemingly genuine interest in what he had to say. It was also entertaining to him to see Mikey act so loud and lively, and from his interests and opinions it seemed he might've had more in common with Frank than Gerard did. He smiled to himself as he thought about how easily he could've pictured him and Mikey being good friends before Frank had managed to break down the foundations of his previous life and tarnished his own reputation. </p>
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<p>Frank surprised himself with the sound of his own laughter as the night continued. At this point, he was convinced the liquor had given some assistance in the pseudo confidence he needed to speak freely. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard, and for the time being he was genuinely having a good time. He especially thanked the vodka for hiding the blush on his face each time Gerard playfully hit his arm or grabbed his knee in a fit of small giggles. Frank pretended not to notice the kisses Pete would steal from Mikey when Gerard was in the bathroom or how tightly Mikey grabbed Pete's hand before closing Gerard's door as they retreated upstairs several hours later when Gerard wasn't looking. “Does Mikey go to our school?”, Frank asked as Gerard stared at the television looking for a previously downloaded movie to play. “Nah, he goes to private school a few towns over.. 's why I don't understand why he acts like the move was so fuckin' hard on him. Nothing changed for him, still gets to see his annoying fake boyfriend everyday”, Gerard mumbled bitterly without even glancing in his direction. The venom of his words caught Frank off guard, it was the first time since meeting him this morning that he had heard anything other than cocky or cheerful undertones, but the alcohol loosened Frank's filter as he blurted out, “Does it bother you that Mikey's gay!?” before being able to stop himself. He looked up towards Gerard who was staring at him with a serious look on his face, head cocked to the side with uncertainty, similar to a dog. This was it, Frank knew the situation was too good to be true, the conversation that would burst Frank's bubble and drop him like a bag of dirt, fast and hard to the reality that Frank wasn't meant to make new friends. While this side of Jersey wasn't particularly conservative or even hateful, the halls of his school were frequently filled with homophobic taunting, comments flying off the teacher's radar as they frequently fell on deaf ears, going ignored. Frank was bisexual, and while he never had the “coming out” conversation with his mother or anyone at his school, it wasn't exactly a secret; it was assumed by almost everyone that he was gay, unbeknownst to them that he often found his gaze lingering on other men; it was more so in the way that Dave coughed out <i>'faggot</i> when Frank would leave the house with smudged eyeliner or clothes that hugged his frame tightly when his mother wasn't around, or in the way Paul's cult of halfwits would antagonize by making dick-sucking mouth gestures at him in classes, or in the way the high school custodial staff couldn't keep up with painting over the bathroom stalls' scrawled Sharpie messages calling <i>'Frank Iero a gay slut'</i> with fake phone numbers to '<i>call Fag Iero for a good time'</i>. Frank clenched his eyes shut for a second, internally willing away the burning sensation that filled them as his mind wandered and he jumped as Gerard broke out into an almost maniacal laughter. His eyes shot open wide as he stared at Gerard blankly. “Are you serious!? Frank... <i>I'm gay</i>. Mikey's had nothing but girlfriends but my whole family's seen the way he looks at Pete, and he denies it. Talk about a shame to the parents impatiently waiting for grandchildren! No, but really, no one cares that Mikey's gay, except Mikey, and maybe kids at that holier-than-thou school he goes to.” Gerard's face was red with laughter as Frank's face flushed in embarrassment and relief, reaching for his phone to check the time in hopes of hiding his burning of his cheeks. It was almost 3:00am and he choked back a yawn from the wave of exhaustion that hit him.</p>
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<p>Gerard reached for the bottle again, his sips had gotten longer throughout the night as the bottle dwindled down to less than a quarter than it was several hours prior. “Take the bed if you're tired, the couch will just fuck your back up”, he slurred. The vodka circulating Frank's system refused him the opportunity to hesitate like he would if he were sober. As he stood up, his body felt weighed down, again, not in the way he preferred. He walked over to the bed and sat on the corner awkwardly as Gerard pressed play on the remote for a movie Frank could've sworn Gerard decided on half an hour ago, he had no concept of time and could still feel the embarrassment of indirectly accusing Gerard of being homophobic. How could he be so stupid? So ignorant? The room felt like it were spinning as his anxiety fought through his inebriated shield, he could feel the dark clouds leering in the back of his mind. Gerard stood up, turning off the lights and made himself comfortable on the bed, back leaned up against the headboard, feet close to Frank's thigh. “Frank, it's okay. I don't know what your deal is with your sexuality, but I told you, <i> I've heard the rumors, so relax.</i>” While his slurred words were sincerely intended to provide Frank with comfort, he felt his body stiffen. He didn't want to think about the rumors anymore today, he didn't want to think about them any day; another reason he preferred inhaling his solace through his nose as opposed to seeking it in the bottom of a bottle. He didn't have the energy to hold a poker face while his thoughts roamed recklessly. He scooted backwards on the bed, partially sitting up, elbows behind him propping himself up to look over at Gerard. The room felt like it was spinning, but he hoped Gerard was too drunk to notice the way Frank grounded himself for a moment, by staring into his eyes that reflected the movie playing across the room. “What rumors did you hear?”, he asked, hoping Gerard couldn't hear the way his voice trembled. Gerard glanced down at him and sighed, shaking his head, “Frank you know about the rumors. You don't need me to repeat them.” Frank saw pity in his eyes, but an anger sparked in his gut and his jaw clenched tightly. “I want to know what you've heard”, he mumbled through gritted teeth as calmly as he could, allowing his body to sink down, head hitting the pillow and body turning on it's side to look up at his face. Gerard sighed again, looking back to the television screen despite the volume being so low, it was practically inaudible. “I mean, I heard that you did a lot of drugs last year,” Gerard slurred, “and I heard you tried to get that douchebag kid Paul, to let you blow him”, he finished, rolling his eyes. Frank's eyes widened in terror as he raised his voice, “You know that's not true right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course Frank had heard similar rumors circulate the school about himself. But he'd never be able to erase the altered truths of them from his memory. Frank wished that he couldn't so vividly remember the first time he told Paul he was questioning his sexuality; It was during the winter holiday break of his freshman year, a week after Frank had accidentally – or maybe curiously clicked an ad that was undoubtedly going to give his computer a virus if the sketchy porn website Frank was already scrolling through hadn't already. He confided in Paul with burning cheeks about the half hour he spent looking through gay porn videos only leaving him with more questions about himself he couldn't answer. It was an entire realm that never crossed his mind before, and he was grateful that Paul wasn't fazed in the slightest by Frank's self-doubt and shame. Neither of them had come from homes that condemned homosexuality, but it shocked him when Paul brushed it off and said it wasn't anything to get worked up over, assured him that when he figured himself out, their friendship would always remain the same. Frank wished he didn't remember how he noticed Paul's hugs goodbye seemed to grow longer, or how his affections like a comforting hand on Frank's shoulder or leg didn't linger for unusually longer periods over the following months. He wished he didn't remember the time Paul's parents were out of town, leaving Frank and Paul to steal Paul's father's beer from the fridge in the garage, chugging down the bitter liquid until their filters faltered enough for Paul to hook a finger under Frank's chin and kiss him gently. They were barely experienced with anything physically outside of the seldom chances they had that year to make out with a girl here and there, usually someone random at small get togethers Paul had managed to get them invited to with other equally as dorky kids. The kiss started as a gentle peck that evolved to making out and Paul's hands roaming under Frank's shirt. It had stopped as abruptly as it started and was never spoken about again. Until the summer before sophomore year when Frank was sleeping over Paul's house and he admitted out of nowhere that he had thought about their kiss the month prior and wanted to know if Frank would be willing to, again. At the time, Frank hadn't thought much of their friendship had changed, they were still close as they ever were, except now there was an unspoken, secret intimacy they shared; and at fourteen, Frank hadn't put much thought into it. They never spoke about the cuddling at night during sleepovers or the heated make-outs behind locked doors, it was just a thing they did together. They still played music together, swooned over celebrity crushes and girls at school, still found a safe haven in one another from brewing storms at home – nothing changed. But Frank's mind could still hear Paul's nervous heavy breathing in the middle of the night, can still feel the chaste kisses he placed on the back of Frank's neck as his hand lingered to the waistband of Frank's pants. Frank's mind can still feel the soft moans caught in his throat as he ruined Paul's sheets, leaving them to change them quietly to avoid waking and explaining the mess to either of Paul's parents. But while they moved forward in their exploration through the year – nothing changed. Until it did. Nothing changed until the day they agreed to take things further than awkward blowjobs and sloppy handjobs and pretending they never happened. Frank lost his virginity to Paul, and vice versa. At the time, Frank believes neither of them truly regretted it. To be able to explore this with his best friend made him thankful, knowing if he ever got this far with a partner in the future, he wouldn't be full of self-doubt, he'd feel sure of himself and confident from the experiences they had together. It gave him the opportunity to learn what he liked, what Paul liked, without dealing with awkward conversations afterward. Everything went back to normal as they'd quickly fumble to get their clothes back on afterward. But as the end of sophomore year approached, Frank denied the shift he felt in their friendship to himself; he tried to brush off Paul's bubbling jealousy and passive aggressive comments he'd make towards Frank, subtly accusing Frank of looking at other boys in the locker rooms, try to hide the snide remarks about Frank 'probably thinking about someone else when they fooled around' under a mask of teasing and failing miserably; Frank saw through it, and denied it to himself again and again. Paul's jealously proceeded to seep from his pores, frequently filling the room with a tension so thick and uncomfortable, Frank felt as if he was <i>suffocating</i>. But he'll definitely never forget the summer before junior year..</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Frank, are you awake?”, Gerard's playfully irritated voice saving Frank from drowning in memories he had absolutely no way of keeping himself afloat from. “Huh? Yeah I'm awake, sorry.” Gerard's face went soft, “I was just saying, I don't believe everything I hear. There's two sides to every story. Get some rest, you look exhausted.” Frank couldn't fight to stay awake any longer if he wanted to, and immediately felt his eyes close.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delayyyy and this chapter in general. Orginal story had super cringey poems that I didn't want to be bothered with rewriting so I just used/slighty changed the lyrics to Asprin-Free by AFI and Young and Doomed by Frank Iero And The Future Violents; please don't hate me!! </p>
<p>comments are always appreciated, and i promise this story won't be entirely doom and gloom! thanks for reading :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank woke up to his body encased in an unbearable heat. His eyes struggled to peel themselves open, squinting in the dim light as they immediately scanned the surrounding the area. He had fallen asleep on his back, limbs spread outward as if he were having another dream where he was falling fast. Eyes searched down to realize it was just another night his limbs entangled with Paul's; one arm straightened, elbow locked forward across Frank's chest while his left leg bent at the knee curled across Frank's hip bones, leaving his right arm and leg pressed down straight against the left side of Frank's body. Frank found it bittersweet, the comfort of another while the additional body heat had left him crawling in his skin. He tried to turn his body toward him, moving as minimally as possible to avoid waking him up, when in the dim lighting, he realized it was not the VHS tape of a haunted memory playing on his REM's VCR player... It wasn't a dream at all, and it wasn't Paul twisted alongside his body – it was <i>Gerard</i>. Thankful his body didn't have the energy to panic just yet, he closed his eyes and pretended to remain asleep; silently basking in the pleasant nostalgia of sleeping, <i>just sleeping</i> with someone, holding onto the memories of trusted company, internally clutching desperately at the daydreams of waking up not so alone again, and smiled to himself. His efforts wasted on his movements waking the sleeping body next to him; he heard the soft groan of Gerard waking up, retracting his limbs and sitting upwards. Frank watched through slivers of his eyelids, his own eyelashes betraying him as they hid most of his view in shadows as he continuously pretended to sleep. He could barely make out the room as he watched Gerard sit up, sleepily stretch before crawling out of bed and making his way to the bathroom in the corner of the bedroom. Frank saw the bathroom light creep outside of the door, left open slightly ajar, and sat himself up realizing he could use the light as a reason for waking up, ending his daydreams. He heard Gerard yawn and relieve his bladder before opening the door, returning to Frank in his long-sleeved shirt from the night before with black boxer briefs. Frank clenched his eyes shut as he tried to will away his imagination from wandering to anything less than what Gerard was currently wearing. Gerard bent forward over the corner of the bed, leaning in close towards Frank with a sleep-induced confusion painted over his face. “You awake, Frankie?”, his morning voice a raspy whisper Frank wanted to hold onto like an old-fashioned cartoon character holding onto an over-sized text balloon that raised them towards the heavens.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frank faked waking up to the sound of Gerard's voice as he leaned forward, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he refused to acknowledge ten minutes prior when he had actually opened them. He felt his own breath get tangled in his vocal cords before sliding its way through his esophagus the second he realized his mouth was only several inches from Gerard's. Mentally shaking himself to his senses, “Hey what's up? What time is it?”, he asked. Gerard stared at him, eyes scanning his entire face in seconds as if Frank had spoken another language. “What? I need coffee to answer that many questions”, Gerard grumbled, voice still soft and Frank could tell if Gerard was more awake and caffeinated he'd be wearing his classic smirk, the one Frank could too easily picture himself getting accustomed to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They ended up drinking coffee in Gerard's kitchen upstairs in a surprisingly comfortable silence before anyone in the house woke up, every now and then making small talk about mutual interests; Gerard driving Frank home within the hour.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~*~*~*~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next few days had gone by within the blink of an eye if you had asked Frank. Not an ounce of guilt in his system prevalent after lying to Gerard's face several days prior when he said he <i>needed</i> to be home Saturday morning, repeating, “My mom worries so much dude, I don't go out often. If I'm not home she'll bug out” in attempt to get Gerard to drive him home as soon as possible after he suggested Frank spend most of the day at his house watching movies and playing games with him and Mikey. The second he had opened his front door, he kicked off his shoes with a sigh of relief. He knew his mother was at work, and Dave was more than likely halfway through his first six-pack of the day, regardless of noon approaching. Frank could've sworn his body had practically <i>teleported</i> up the stairs in anticipation of the dope awaiting him in the top drawer of his nightstand. His hands fumbled as they locked his bedroom door as quickly as possible. And then time was nothing more than an illusion the second his fingertips unwrapped the wax-paper bag; the immediate rush up through his nose had sent the feeling of numbing electric shocks throughout the rest of his body, buzzing pins and needles. Within seconds, he found the energy to haphazardly clean 90% of his room as if a puppeteer were controlling every move of his marionette-like body; the timing seemingly perfect before he wrapped his small frame in a Sherpa blanket and falling backwards into his imaginary velvet underground. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The days had flown by in his daze, leaving him with little to no memory of the following Monday at school. The only thing that had stuck out to him was Gerard's text reminding him of the poem they had to write for their English class the following Thursday. Frank had drifted through all previous days of the week, only scribbling down his most recent thoughts on a random page in his composition notebook Thursday morning when he had just so happened to wake up an hour early for school. He stumbled into school just like any other morning that week, he turned his eyes from any texts Gerard sent him asking how he was doing or when he'd want to hang out again. Frank knew he was being a dick by not responding to most of them, especially after incidentally ignoring him in classes as he nodded off in his folded arms on the desks; and he hadn't meant to, but he had no intentions of fighting off his high; it felt too good and it was the safest distance to keep their newfound friendship. It was safest for both of them to keep the friendship at arm's length; this way Frank couldn't embarrass himself enough to incidentally push the boundaries of something entirely platonic and Gerard wouldn't get the quite disappointing opportunity of getting to know Frank any further than he wanted to let on beyond the concept of a bullied loner with an overprotective mother. Sure, letting on a lie bothered Frank to an extent he numbed himself to; and while he denied it to himself, he still got to get high while having one person in his life who was interested in his existence – he was having his cake and eating it too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Everyone pass your assignments to the student on your right, take notes or critiques on it, attach<br/> it to the page and return it to them tomorrow”, Frank's teacher said aloud on the seldom moment Frank had been briefly conscious; his hands struggling to hold his heavy head upright. He looked to his right and realized he'd have to interact with Gerard. Through his trance, he looked over at Gerard who had already been <i>too</i> aware of Frank. He was trying hard not to notice Frank, glaring through a side-eye, while nibbling away at his bottom lip as if he were a trapped animal trying to gnaw it's way through a cage. “Here”, he mumbled, shoving his paper onto Frank's desk not giving Frank the chance to look over his own page before yanking it from Frank's hand and averting his eyes to his own desk before the bell rang. And as simple as that, the day went by in a flash. It was an A-Day, so Frank didn't have to worry about sitting next to Gerard in Art class.. But Gerard's panicked demeanor broke through Frank's high and hit him when he was at home alone in his bedroom, feeling extraordinarily low. He sat upright in bed, sobering up as he pulled Gerard's English paper out of his folder in his bag. He could only assume Gerard was insecure about the presentation of his paper; their English teacher was known for assigning work that was never intended to be handed in or graded. He looked at the crinkled paper with the small handwriting sprawled across the page almost rushed and chaotically:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>There's no hope of helping us, we've only just begun<br/>We're youth eternal, nothing more to become.<br/>A thousand lights are burning bright<br/>Give day a darkened light, always burning from both ends.<br/>We're proud of reputations we all own,<br/>Together forever, rejected but never alone.<br/>I'd purify the world with one primal scream,<br/>But no one would listen.<br/>Keep dark secrets to myself because no one else will talk to me<br/>It's hard to comprehend, they couldn't understand<br/>all the thoughts going through our heads.<br/>With a smile they tore us up, now look what we've become.<br/>Finally we are numb, we're proud of reputations we all own<br/>Together forever, rejected but never alone.<br/>No need to feel; I've got a nothingness and that's all that's real.<br/>No need to cut the numbness inside,<br/>No need to hear <br/>What you've got to say means nothing at all<br/>I've got no distance left to fall. </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The words across the page made Frank's heart hurt and an overwhelming sense of genuine guilt clouded his mind. He had been unintentionally been - okay, maybe 50/50 been intentionally avoiding Gerard, completely neglecting the fact that Gerard very clearly needed a friend almost as badly as Frank did. Frank had tried to pretend he didn't notice through his haze this past week how his peripheral vision always magnetized towards Gerard like the arrow on a compass; he turned a blind eye and pretended he didn't notice the way Gerard rarely exchanged words with other students in the hall, turned a blind eye to the sad gleam in his eyes each time he closed his locker, coincidentally down the hall from Frank's, and how he always sighed deeply to himself with closed lids as he shut his locker before dragging his feet to his next class. Gerard wasn't picked on, but he stood out with his jeans seemingly tighter than a newborn's exit, pallid complexion and greasy jet black locks. He stood out, it didn't matter if he was off the radar of the bullying, it was blatantly obvious that one of these kids was not like the others in the hallways. Frank couldn't avoid the hole in the pit of his stomach that demanded he reach out to Gerard and ask what was going on or if he was feeling even remotely okay, he had been in that position far too many times and had seen a light in Gerard's eyes that he didn't want to be the first to witness fade out, like he now imagined his own might have had at some point. How was he expected to grade and critique such raw emotions he had felt himself? He broke out some dope and typed out a quick text to Gerard before inhaling his heaven: <i>”are u ok?? sry I hvnt been around, just supr exhausted lol”</i></p>
<p>He received a short, immediate “<i>I'm fine</i>” from Gerard, before scribbling a short message on loose-leaf page full of bullshit on how there were no grammatical errors and that the <i>'author was feeling alienated and found comfort in another despite the constant criticism of the outside world'</i>. He managed to drag his dead-weight body to the bathroom down the hall for a shower before returning to his bedroom and passing out almost immediately.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~*~*~*~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frank had lowered his self-prescribed dosage the following morning, remembering Gerard's assignment and wanting to somewhat consciously be able to decipher Gerard's reaction to his response, hoping to gauge how Gerard was doing. That didn't mean he hadn't taken the chance of storing two or three bumps worth of powder into a neatly folded wax-paper bag, stored away safely into the front pocket of his jeans. “Return assignments with yesterday's partner, assess and form your own opinions on the constitutive criticism or general comments on your work and discuss,” the English teacher's voice seemed to boom through the classroom before sitting back down at their desk to grade work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frank glanced awkwardly at Gerard as they exchanged papers and Frank was instantly mortified when his paper was back in his hands. He didn't get the chance to re-read what Gerard had ripped from his hands the day prior; Frank wished for the floor of the classroom to open up and swallow him whole as he read over the far too personal paper he had apparently turned in to Gerard yesterday as a sad excuse for an assignment. Frank's page read over:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>Under bad signs we were born<br/>Into families that sworn up and down <br/>That they'd keep us safe, yeah okay.<br/>I'm classically sad and I'm inclined to get mad<br/>I dwell upon mistakes that I've made<br/>It keeps me awake at night,<br/>The realization that I might<br/>be a drag no one wants to inhale.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Don't leave me here, where my fears<br/>Consume my thoughts, of what was<br/>and what could've been, it's a sin<br/>that I threw it all away</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>When I hurt myself again<br/>I'll pretend it was an accident.<br/>When I hurt myself again, I'll admit I got problems<br/>Show me someone who don't.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Most of the time<br/>I'm convinced that I survived<br/>And that's fine.<br/>But it's far from ideal, but I'll deal<br/>I wish that I had all the things that they have<br/>so I could feed this void in my chest<br/>Cause kids are so unkind<br/>To kids of different kinds<br/>And I promise, that I'm not okay.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was utterly humiliated, not only that he had written something so personal, but that he had allowed Gerard to read the practical journal entry. Frank felt his heart beating in his chest as his eyes scanned the page over and over again before realizing it had been marked and graded. Gerard's chicken-scratch handwriting scribbled throughout the words with notes on the bottom of the page in red and green ink. And it felt personal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The writer takes out their issues with themselves on the world around them while expecting others to stand by them, not wanting to be left alone. Writer expresses self-sabotage both physically and emotionally while isolating themselves, with no clear intentions to change anything. They expect others to help them without helping themselves. Several spelling and punctuation errors, corrected in red ink”</p>
<p>Frank tried harder than ever before to will the tears away, this was humiliating. The knot caught in his throat stopped him from even considering turning to look at Gerard. Frank couldn't tell if he was even being oversensitive or paranoid, all he knew was in this moment he felt vulnerable. Gerard's criticism felt like a personal jab, as if the words how somehow climbed off the crinkled paper to form a small knife that pierced Frank's side. He felt small, and something in his aching gut told him Gerard's criticism wasn't meant to be constructive, it felt personal and cruel. His eyes scanned up towards the clock on the wall and thanked his lucky stars there was only a few minutes left of class. He packed his things into his backpack, throwing it over his shoulder, leaving his assignment on his desk upside down. He couldn't even look at it anymore, he felt his knuckles grip the side of the desk. He was going to freak out, and he was trying his hardest to internally hinder the oncoming anxiety attack that boiled in chest, bubbling through his sternum and ribs like wild vines. He stood up, shifting his weight on his feet, slightly swaying. His could not remove his eyes from the clock, pleading for the bell to just fucking ring already through clenched teeth. “Frank?”, he heard Gerard's voice, but he couldn't even turn his head. Gerard's voice wasn't laced with malice, if anything it sounded gentle and quizzical. </p>
<p>The bell rang and as Frank hurried to the classroom door, assignment clenched in his fist, he was stopped to speak with his teacher as the rest of the class packed up and left. His teacher only wanted to offer an extra-credit assignment to help improve his grades, and while he felt an ounce of relief with the fuel to fight off one of the many arguments Dave was bound to start over his grades, and that his teacher stopping him meant he wouldn't have to walk with Gerard to the next class they shared, it wasn't enough. His chest was burning and he had been hoping to find his way to the bathroom for a bump to settle his nerves before his next class. There would be no time for that now, he'd have to excuse himself for the bathroom pass next period, something he avoided at all costs to avoid attention directed at him. After taking mental note of the extra credit assignment, he rushed to his next period.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had made it into the Art Room at the last minute, the bell ringing as he found himself in his seat. He stared forward to the front of the classroom as he saw Gerard through his peripherals. His sketchbook had already been laid out in front of him, graphite staining his fingers as he smudged away at his paper. But still Frank could see and feel Gerard's eyes repeatedly burning holes through him every few seconds, waiting for Frank to turn and face him. Frank refused to turn his head, Gerard's markings on his English assignment played across his mind as he waited for Mr. Agnello to finish silently taking attendance so he could ask to use the bathroom. For the life of him, he would not turn to look in Gerard's direction. He waited several minutes after attendance when he heard a small clang on the floor under his chair, followed by a hushed “Shit.” Instinctively he looked down to see what had fallen, too slowly apparently as he only caught glimpse of the classroom's fluorescent lighting reflecting off a small item Gerard was quickly grabbing and putting in his pocket. His eyes followed Gerard's hand and incidentally made direct eye contact as he looked up. “Frank, I wanted to talk to you about something”, Gerard said softly and quickly, talking with his hands as usual, “not exactly now.” Frank's eyes went wide, “Gerard-” “I won't bother you anymore afterward, but maybe after school today?” Frank attempted to get another word in, repeating Gerard's name before he was cut off again. “It won't take long, just meet me by the smoking area, cause it's-”</p>
<p>“Gerard! You're bleeding”, he spoke up quickly, trying not to raise his voice. There was blood on Gerard's hand trickling down to the wrist of his long-sleeved shirt and a drop had fallen on the table in front of them. Frank honestly had no idea how Gerard hadn't felt it based off how quickly the bright red liquid flowed. Gerard paused, eyes wide as he inspected his hand and shoved his left thumb into his mouth and hissed to himself. A startled gasp was heard from a nearby table before Mr. Agnello had quickly taken notice, walking over to their table. He asked Gerard if he was okay and Frank couldn't even make out Gerard's response through the static in his mind, unable to take his eyes off the blood on Gerard's hand. “Frank, please guide Gerard to the nurse's office so I know he made it there alright?”, Mr. Agnello asked before walking back to his desk, muttering about needing to double check the classroom's broken art supplies for sharp, broken pen caps. Frank nodded and raised from his seat in silence, holding the door open for Gerard who's thumb was now wrapped in a brown paper towel. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They made their way down the hallway before Gerard stopped to turn into the bathroom. “Gerard, there's a bathroom in the nurse's office on the first floor”, Frank's own voice surprised him as it cracked, the knot that formed in his throat the previous period had still not dissipated. “I'm not going to the nurse's office, I'm fine,” Gerard muttered as he pushed the bathroom door open with his shoulder, practically letting it close in Frank's face as he followed behind. “You're bleeding a lot, you could need stitches, the nurse might have to call your parents”, Frank said trying to get a better look as Gerard shook his head, running his thumb under water in the bathroom sink. Frank watched the swirls of red circle the silver drain of the porcelain sink. Gerard hissed at his bleeding finger, ignoring Frank's advice. He seemed completely unfazed as his finger continued to bleed and Frank felt sick as he stared. Something felt off before he realized something. “What did you cut your finger on, Gerard?”, he asked with a raised brow, eyes scanning Gerard's face. “Broken pen cap, shitty underfunded art department”, he replied, eyes not leaving his finger under the sink's freezing water. </p>
<p>“You were using a pencil”, Frank stated plainly before Gerard shook his head. “It was the broken fucking clip of a mechanical pencil, my bad.” Frank furrowed his brows, wanting to know why Gerard was lying to him. He wasn't stupid, and he knew when people were hiding something from him. He reached out to the dispenser for new paper towels, holding them out for Gerard, “What's in your pocket?” Gerard's head shot up to meet Frank's face, eyebrows raised, “What? My phone?”, he snickered. “No, what's in your front pocket? That one”, Frank said, pointing his finger at Gerard's front left pocket. The dark blue denim stained in dark specks where blood had dried. “There's clearly nothing in my pocket. What are you getting at?”, Gerard asked, brows furrowed as he applied pressure through the paper towel wrapped around his thumb. “You put something in your pocket and then you were bleeding”, Frank spoke as Gerard cut him off, “I cut my finger on a broken mechanical pencil, did you not hear me?” Frank scoffed as he looked directly into Gerard's eyes, “You were using wood-less graphite pencils. You always do. Why won't you tell me what's in your pocket?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gerard looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head to himself and forcing out a fake chuckle before rolling his eyes. Frank made obvious eye contact before continuing to eye down the stained pocket. Gerard held his pocket out carefully with the fingers of his left hand, as he reached in with his right hand and pulled out a small silver razor blade. A gasp caught in Frank's throat as he stammered, “Why do you have that? Dude, throw it away.” Gerard's eyes were washed over with quick anger as his face went red, “What's it to you? You're not afraid to hurt yourself apparently,” he spat as he tossed the blade in the oversized garbage bin next to Frank. </p>
<p>Frank's mind went blank, anxiety returning full-force and he could swear he felt his heart beating on his tongue. He didn't understand why Gerard had been so off today, or why he was being so mean to Frank, but he knew it wasn't in his threshold. He rushed past Gerard and locked himself into a stall at the end of the bathroom. He quickly sat on the toilet seat, fully clothed as he desperately reached for the wax bag in his pocket.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry it took an eternity to update, sorry this chapter is very long and not beta'd, and sorry for this chapter :(</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank frantically pulled the wax paper bag out of his pocket along with his lanyard that held his house key with shaking hands. He balanced himself on the toilet seat, knees pressed against his chest as he dipped his key into the bag and scooped the powder into a tiny mound. Time felt frozen in that moment and his head was spinning, there was too much to process. Was Gerard lashing out on him because he ignored his texts? Then why would he write Frank off so easily via text when he attempted to check in? Why did Gerard carry a razor blade around in his pocket? Did Gerard really think he was blaming the rest of the world for his problems? Was he? He waited a second before he heard Gerard running the bathroom sink again. This was his opportunity; he held the key up to his nostril and inhaled deeply. Before he could even catch his breath, he used his key to scoop another bump. He needed this now or he'd be up against his heartbeat rattling against his sternum and the impending anxiety attack that followed.</p>
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<p>“Frank?”, Gerard called as Frank suddenly noticed the shadow looming beneath the stall's door. “Leave me alone”, Frank muttered under his breath, the acoustics of the bathroom amplifying his whisper. He knew by the time he stepped out of this stall, he wouldn't feel any of this. The drugs would chase away the panic that poisoned his blood, he wouldn't have the energy or desire to argue then, so there was no point in raising his voice or crying now. “Frank, look, I'm sorry. Please don't tell anyone”, Gerard called out again. Frank faked a quick cough as he inhaled the second bump off his key. “I didn't mean what I said, it was out of line and I understand what you're going through. I'm dealing with the same shit and it's embarrassing. I just really can't get caught,” Gerard's words falling on deaf ears as Frank's focus was scooping out the remaining powder from the bag. Frank took a deep breath and closed his eyes, felt the blood pumping through his veins like Class III rapids, and as he exhaled it all came to a quick halt. Everything paused as he felt the blood rush to his head, groaning in pleasure as he felt a wave of calm rush over him. He smiled to himself for a moment before remembering he wasn't alone when he heard Gerard practically shriek, <i>“What the fuck are you doing!?” </i></p>
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<p>His head shot up towards Gerard who was now peering over the stall, presumably standing on the toilet in the next stall over. Frank stammered, trying to form a coherent sentence as he stared from the bag and key in his trembling hands back up to Gerard's face above the stall; his expression an unbalanced mix between being completely appalled and absolutely revolted. “I-I-I, uh- “, Frank continued to stutter. “Well? What the <i>actual fuck</i> are you doing!?”, Gerard repeated, his question soaked in a stern tone that reminded him of his father's before the divorce, or Dave's tone when he needed to release that week's rage. Frank's high hadn't peaked and he felt a rage growing in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't think clearly, the urgency in Gerard's questions were practically re-wrapping Frank up in a blanket of guilt laced in twisting nerves. So much was happening so fast and the words left his mouth before he could run them through his mind's filter, unable to even slow down the venom that dripped off each sentence, “I thought you were <i>going through the same thing</i>? I thought you were <i>sorry</i>? I thought you <i>understood</i>. But now you're invading my fucking privacy and standing there judging me like your fucking thumb's not bleeding after bringing a goddamned razor blade to school.” He looked up at Gerard's face that was now contorting back and forth between shock and hurt. Frank amped himself up too quickly and couldn't redirect his mood to calm himself down, at this point he was already caught and he couldn't make himself care. He glanced forward at his shaking hands and inhaled the last bump off his key before looking back up at Gerard, who was still just staring at him with his jaw dropped. “So what now? You're gonna jump on the bandwagon, terrorize me in the halls and tell everyone Paul's right? So fucking do it then, it can't get worse. But then again, I'm just taking my problems out on the world right? I'm just isolating and expecting the world to help me? Fuck off,” Frank spat before standing up and dropping the empty baggie in the toilet and flushing. He put his key in his pocket and struggled to unlock the stall door. His mind went fuzzy and he realized a second too late that he stood up too fast. The stall door finally opened, and Gerard stood outside with wide, almost sad eyes, “Just meet me after school, please?” </p>
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<p>Frank shouldered past him, his own body not prepared for the force against Gerard, his body tingled and he almost tripped over his own feet. He laughed aloud to himself at how ridiculous this entire situation was. His head in a daze, he thought to himself <i>How much worse could this possibly get?</i> and in the moment it was almost hysterical; why did he care so much? He's known Gerard for all of a week - who cares if the insults hurled towards him in the halls grew an ounce of aggression after this? He'd keep getting high, float through it for the next six to seven months and then high school as a whole would be nothing but a distant memory with a dull sting. He made his way back to class and put his head down in his folded arms on the table, not bothering to look up even once to see if Gerard had actually returned before the bell rang.</p>
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<p>The rest of the day went by in a prolonged blur, Frank repeatedly drifting through the halls like a ghost.  He had almost forgotten about the entire Art Class ordeal with Gerard that morning until Gerard tapped him on the shoulder as he smoked a cigarette under a tree after school had let out. He looked at Gerard through heavy lids with the understanding of a buffering video; he watched Gerard's lips move but it took several seconds before he could hear the words that left him, let alone register them. It seemed like he was apologizing again when Frank rubbed at his eyes before making a second attempt to understand the words spewing from Gerard's mouth. “Can we please just forget everything that happened earlier? I won't tell anyone, it'll just be a secret among friends. As long as we're careful. Please, Frank?” Frank found himself nodding without putting any additional thought into it. He liked Gerard, acknowledged at this point that he was definitely strange, but like Gerard had said the day they'd met, Frank definitely needed an ally. And at this point if Gerard knew Frank was doing drugs, he wouldn't have to panic so much over the thought of spending time together, and maybe he'd get over his attraction to the guy over time, maybe they'd actually end up really good friends... And if they didn't? He only had to push through less than seven months, he reassured himself.</p>
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<p>The following weeks had flown by with very few events breaking up the monotony. Outside of the weather growing colder, everyday felt the same to Frank, he often found himself daydreaming he was in an alternate-reality living everyday on repeat; wake up, get high, go to school, get high, go home, fight with Dave, console his mother, get high. It seemed as though Dave's drunken aggression had progressively gotten worse just as Frank had; after a sketchy Google search in Incognito Mode and the discovery that you could buy syringes in bulk for a moderately low price from the local pharmacy, <i>especially</i> if you politely lied through your teeth about being a medical student who needed to pay out of pocket for your phlebotomy course supplies. He had previously swore to himself that if he ever felt the slightest urge to inject drugs into his body, it would be his rock bottom; it would be his lowest point and the unavoidable siren going off in his head telling him he did in-fact have a problem, that he was a drug addict who needed help before the rug was pulled out from under him and his life shattered to pieces before it even stood a chance to begin. But the second the plunger emptied the contents of the barrel directly into his bloodstream, there was no unavoidable siren going off in his head, just silent fireworks, constricted pupils and a high that left him speechless. How could this be his rock bottom, when he felt he were floating above the rest of the world?</p>
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<p> It took a lot of bickering and lying to get Justin to sell him dope again, swearing up and down that he was buying it to sell to a group of kids at school, he'd even picked up pills to prove a point that he was picking up for others and himself. Justin didn't need to know that the pills would only hold him over in the places he was far too-afraid of carrying a syringe; like when he'd spend the weekends at Gerard's house, swallowing the pills dry in the bathroom every time his thoughts felt a little too clear. Gerard seemed unfazed or maybe just oblivious, he'd given up asking about what drugs he was doing when he realized getting answers to his questions about Frank's life was like getting blood from a stone. And while Frank still believed they were growing closer, the moments of sobriety that crept through occasionally (before he'd lock himself in Gerard's bathroom choking back chalky pills with scooped handfuls of water from the sink) convinced him a part of Gerard was distancing himself somehow; he couldn't place his tongue on it, but his poisoned gut screamed to him that Gerard was hiding something from him. There were sudden moments of painful silence, Gerard's mood would abruptly drop and his voice would fizzle out to hushed tones, he'd snap at Mikey while the three of them hung out together, sometimes he'd suggest they all drank and instead of filling the room with laughter he'd lock himself in the bathroom with the shower running as if no one would listen closely enough to hear that the shower stream was splashing into an empty tub. He'd leave Frank in his room to go upstairs and provoke arguments with his seemingly perfect, genuinely present parents that Frank secretly envied, that almost always escalated to Gerard near-screaming and slamming the basement door before returning to Frank with no intentions of any explanation. Their friendship seemed to grow, even if they were both in denial of it suffocating under the weight of their unspoken rules, “a secret among friends”:v<i>Don't ask, don't tell.</i></p>
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<p>A new acquaintance had also joined them a few times, a new student with long, black, filthy hair, wide blue eyes and an infectious laugh who Frank was essentially forced into meeting. A week after the house next door suddenly fashioned a wooden sign declaring 'Sold!', Dave and his mother had practically dragged Frank next door to introduce him to their new neighbor's nephew, Robert - or Bert, which he had apparently preferred. Frank hated the forced interaction but was soon relieved when Bert took him to his bedroom upstairs of the large house and immediately asked him if he smoked weed. They soon found out they had a lot in common, primarily playing guitar, liking the same bands and sharing an affinity for getting high. Frank had brought him to Gerard's house several times, and tried to convince himself it didn't bother him when Bert's gaze lingered on Gerard's silhouette a little too long when Gerard wasn't paying attention. It never came up, the unspoken 'don't ask, don't tell' rule had somehow extended to Bert without any verbal confirmation.</p>
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<p>Frank knew something was off in his world, like a poorly timed prank where everything was shifted three inches to the left, but he was good at pretending he didn't notice all things uncomfortable for seventeen years at this point. But the first in-your-face sign was when Dave got a job. The week before his school's holiday vacation, Frank noticed an eerie silence that filled his home when he was about to leave for school. His mother sat on the living room couch, drinking coffee and watching the news on a barely audible volume before work. Her eyes caught Frank's and she smiled wide at his lost expression, “Dave got a job with Stephen next door!” She beamed up at Frank before he nodded and walked out the front door. Throughout his mother's relationship with Dave, he'd had more than several jobs. When they first started dating, Dave had a full-time job with benefits that he repeatedly suggested Frank's mother take advantage of. She denied, thankfully so, because within a few years into their relationship, Dave was laid off as part of the fiscal year's budget cuts. This was around the time Frank started pretending he didn't smell the alcohol seeping through Dave's pores when he sat next to him at the dinner table, once upon a time when they all actually sat together for meals daily. As the years went on, Dave had gotten jobs that he'd start by leaving early with a smile on his face, travel mug full of fresh coffee in hand, a kiss full of have-a-great-day's on his mother's cheek on the way out and within a few months he would be leaving the house for work late, shirt half-tucked in and leaving in a car with a crater-filled bumper that floored it in reverse out of their driveway before swerving down the street; leaving their mailbox on the sidewalk nothing but collateral damage. Frank had seen it all before, but hadn't ever witnessed Dave express joy outside of his relationship with his mother. Frank pretended not to notice, but was painfully aware of how much time Dave started spending with their new neighbor, Stephen. He only became fully aware the night he nodded off at Gerard's house and came home two hours past the impulsive curfew Frank was given; His hands stumbled to press the key in the front door's lock properly and he knew on the other side of the front door was an ass-beating he'd unintentionally back-talk his way into with Dave. But when the door opened, Dave wasn't home. He was at the neighbor's house apparently, as Frank's mother explained to him with a soft smile.  He couldn't help but be both grateful and suspicious of Dave's new friendship; it was too good to be true that Dave was spending time out of the house, particularly in a place that didn't include driving drunk to or from, and just because the altercations between Frank and Dave had lessened, they hadn't vanished – Dave would come home laughing hysterically from Stephen's once the sun set on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, drunker than Frank would normally see him.. but the second he found himself in Dave's way those nights, he'd wish the drugs would completely black him out. He'd pray to a God he wasn't entirely sure he even believed in at this point on those nights. If he were lucky, he'd miss Dave's first few swings, but he almost always ended with a split lip or purple welts that coated his thighs and shoulders.. anywhere Dave's leather belt had been graced with the opportunity to catch Frank in it's reach.</p>
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<p>Frank didn't necessarily believe that Bert's uncle Stephen was a bad person though; he'd assumed Stephen had no idea of the drunken abuse he'd endure, and he did have to admit he'd noticed Dave drinking water with his meals on weekdays after the new job started; something he hadn't seen in years, presumably a new change influenced by their neighbor. Stephen would always stop and talk to Frank if they both happened to be outside at the same time, and he'd ask Frank about his day, school work or even music. He had a pleasantly friendly aura to him, that made Frank question how he could ever stoop so low to seek friendship in Dave. And as for what Bert told Frank about Stephen; it was barely anything. The only mention of Bert's uncle from his own mouth was when he explained to Frank that his uncle became his legal guardian after his parents had died in a car accident when he was seven years old. Frank never asked questions after learning that, afraid of reminding Bert of painful memories of parents he'd never get to see again.</p>
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<p>Several days into the holiday break, Frank found himself waiting on a text from Gerard. They had spent practically every weekend together since they'd met and it was odd not to receive a routine text from Gerard confirming the time he'd be picking Frank up to spend the weekend. It sounded pathetic that he wasn't over his “crush” on the other boy, but Frank would specifically wait to shoot up until he had received his first text of each weekend from Gerard. He'd realize it was much easier to immediately confirm Gerard's pick up time before the worn-out, studded belt wrapped around his arm as a makeshift tourniquet would send him into a hole of forgetfulness and a foggy brain, limbs set ablaze by a cold wildfire spreading through his veins. He knew something was wrong; Gerard always texted him between 4:30 and 5:00pm the nights he intended on picking up Frank for their usual sleep-overs. He tried to brush it off and by 5:45pm he had given up on the idea, tightened the belt, pushed the plunger and let the needle turn his mind off, the high always leaving him heavy and light at the same time. His eyes rolled back in bliss and let it all fade to black.</p>
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<p>Frank woke up to a head full of stars and ringing ears when he realized he was shaking violently and felt a sharp sting across his face. He struggled to open his eyes and was immediately faced with his mother's, full of tears. She was on her knees leaning over Frank, shaking him by the shoulders and slapping him across the face. The moment his eyes met hers, she pulled him into her, holding him so tightly it made his body ache. As the ringing in his ears stopped, his eyes gazed over her shoulder to get a full view of Dave, who was emptying out the drawers of his dresser, spilling the contents all over the floor and analyzing before moving onto the next. It all felt so surreal, and he knew it had to be a nightmare the second he heard his mother's voice, shaky and hoarse from sobs, “How could you do this to me?” She pulled him up onto his feet and shoved him forward. This side of his mother terrified him, the fire in her eyes he hadn't seen since he were a child. If it weren't for her voice and the tears streaming down her face, it'd be impossible to believe she was upset, the anger visibly coursing through her body as her face went red and she shoved Frank again and again until his back was pressed against the wall. “Am I a bad mother?”, she practically screamed into his face, as the tears proceeded to pour, “Am I such a bad mother that you'd rather fucking die than be here!? Because you brought this shit into my house, you put this shit in your body and it's going to put you in a fucking grave, it's going to take you away from me. Do you want that!? Is that better!?”, she shrieked, continuing to shove Frank's shoulders back into the wall. He'd never seen her act like this, he'd never heard her speak like this. All he could do was stare forward with wide eyes as he felt his spine repeatedly hit the wall. “Well? Fucking answer me! Fucking answer me right now!”, she sobbed and all Frank could do was open his mouth, the words never finding their way out before he felt another slap across his cheek. He clutched his face as she slapped him again.  She'd never lay a finger on him before this day. “Linda..  Linda... Sweetheart”, he heard Dave's voice as he pulled his mother's arm in attempt to pull her away from Frank. He'd assumed it was to comfort her before she completely broke down or just killed him with her bare hands, but Frank couldn't force himself to look up at them. His eyes trained on the carpet of his bedroom, looking over the emptied nightstand drawers and then at the crinkling plastic supermarket bag Dave was shoving into his mother's hands before whispering, “Get rid of this, I'll handle it.” </p>
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<p>He heard his mothers choked sobs as he watched her feet drag across the carpet past him. Frank couldn't wrap his mind around how all this happened, he knew he had to speak up but he hadn't prepared to have this conversation, didn't think this day would ever come, let alone pan out this way. And then the realization hit him that his mother had left and he was alone in his room with Dave. He let his body slide down against the wall until he were practically in a ball, face pressed to his knees with his hands protecting the top of his head from the imperative blows of Dave's fists... but they never came. He heard his bedroom door slam shut and peaked up to see Dave crouched down in front of him. He knew Dave was seething, but his face remained calm and Frank wasn't sure if that was worse than being tossed around like a rag doll. “How long?”, the gentle tone was foreign to Frank, it made him feel small, made him feel like a child. “How long?”, Dave repeated before Frank was shocked by the sound of his own voice that was already stammering out a raspy lie, “A-a-a w-week. J-just a week, I was just trying it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now isn't the time for lies, Frank. I'm going to tell you this now.. You fuck with me, it's one thing. You fuck with your mother and I'll make you regret coming into this world,” Dave spat and Frank could feel the droplets hit his face. “So let's try again.. how long?”, Dave spoke through gritted teeth, the internal struggle of keeping calm shook through his words. Frank couldn't pinpoint a time he had felt more afraid of his step-father, he couldn't even remember the last time Dave had addressed him by his actual name rather than something passive-aggressive or completely derogatory, and he knew this was not the time to play games. “A few weeks”, Frank whispered. “Using or shooting?”, Dave pressed. Frank felt his face go red, Dave's composure leaving him feeling ashamed for the first time, completely and utterly embarrassed, “Sh-sh-shooting.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well I'm gonna be honest with you kid, I don't believe you for a goddamned second. But this joyride of yours is over,” Dave smirked, “We found your stash, tossed all your shit and you bet your ass you'll be watched like a hawk from now on...If you were <i>my</i> son, you'd be out of this house by now, and believe me I tried, but couldn't persuade your mother.” Dave smiled, showing teeth and in that moment it reminded Frank of a rabid, feral dog eyeing down the jugular of it's next victim. “So let this be your first and final warning: it ends here. Your mother has always been too good to you, works her ass off for you, and right now she's tearing herself apart, thinking she's not good enough while you're up here lyin' through your teeth like a fucking junkie,” Dave spat and for just a second, Frank could see a glimpse of sadness in his eyes; a small gleam of sincerity in how Dave still thought the world of his mother, despite what he himself had put her through. He wasn't sure how to respond but the look in Dave's eyes told him he was waiting for some type of response or confirmation that was he being taken seriously. Frank nodded before letting Dave continue with his lecture, “So here's what you're gonna do: You're gonna take your sorry ass down those stairs, apologize to her, tell her you're going to get your shit together, come upstairs, clean this shit up and then you're gonna get your goddamned shit together. Understood?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frank nodded again before swallowing hard and struggling to stand up and head for the stairs. He had to use all of his willpower, the overwhelming fear of Dave throwing him out on the street and the uneven beats of his heart combined to get his feet to move down the stairs as he clung to the banister. As if reading a script from Dave, he recited to his mother without looking away from his socks on the floor, he stuttered through an unfortunately half-assed apology, “Mom, I don't want you to think you didn't do well.. or that I'm ungrateful.. I love you and I'm sorry. I'll get my shit together, I promise.” He cringed at the words escaping his lips, and the thought that ravaged his mind telling him he'd just have to hide it better, maybe just slow down a bit, maybe find a way to return to snorting the powder, although now that it had pierced his veins he couldn't even imagine the concept of settling for less; because there was no way he could make it through the rest of his senior year without being sedated to the best of his ability. The thought alone was unfathomable, torturous even. He didn't want to hurt his mother, but he knew each word was nothing more than an attempt to mollify her. There was a long, painful silence before his mother's voice, now so timid had broke through, “Do Gerard and Bert do it, too? Do you get it from one of them?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was so thrown off by his mother's question and part of him fought back laughter. “Gerard? Bert? Bert just smokes weed and Gerard would never, they have no idea”, Frank scoffed before taking the moment to realize his tone was completely inappropriate. “They don't know?”, his mother asked bitterly, raising a brow. There was an another drawn out pause before Frank once again didn't think before speaking, “Where's my phone?” His mother glared at him through narrowed eyes before holding up his phone in her hands without saying a word. The look told him enough, and he knew he wouldn't be getting his phone back anytime soon. He knew he had no right, but anger boiled in his gut. What was he supposed to do without his phone? It was holiday break for Christ's sake! How would he speak to Gerard? How would he get in touch with Justin? Was he supposed to sit in his room and stare at the walls for three weeks? “Don't even ask.” Her warning knocking down the first domino in the Rube Goldberg device in Frank's mind, that lead to an explosion he had been holding back since the bathroom incident with Gerard weeks prior; he was sobering up and enraged. No chance to bite his tongue before exclaiming, “What am I supposed to do without my phone!? I know you're not gonna let me leave the house so what do you want me to do for the next few weeks? Stare at the walls!?” His mother didn't even look up, “Frank, enough. I said don't ask.” But he was already on a roll, no filters, no hesitation, he was snowballing to a whole new level of recalcitrance. “Oh, that's right, you want me to sit in that fucking room for weeks and wait around for <i>your goddamned husband</i> to get drunk again and beat the shit out of me. Then you'll have some quality entertainment, right? If the drugs won't kill me, just let <i>your fucking husband</i> finish the job!”, he was screaming now. His ears were ringing, hands shaking and heart pounded painfully. His mother's mouth opened and closed repeatedly and he watched her bloodshot eyes water. But it wasn't enough to stop him, it wasn't enough to even slow him down. He couldn't feel regret or sadness in this moment, just the inordinate need to get his way, spiteful or not, to hurt others like he was hurting. “I swear to God if you don't give my phone, I'll die in that room! If you take my only friends away, I will fucking kill myself! And no that's not a threat, it's a fucking promise!”, his own screaming made his head hurt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the distance, he could hear Dave's footsteps stomping upstairs presumably leaving their bedroom to make his way down and silence the screaming. Frank knew in this moment he was fighting against an anxiety attack, his face felt hot and he was struggling to control his breathing. He looked up to his mother who was crying in silence and staring at him like he were a stranger that just barged into her home. “W-why can't you just see your old friends?”, his mother's voice stuttered quietly. And that's when the regret hit Frank. She looked small, beside herself and completely broken. There was no moment in her life that prepared her for this; no handbook on how to regain control of a house plagued by two addicts, no life-hack tutorials on how to put your foot down when finding your only son unconscious on his bedroom floor with a belt around his arm, and there was certainly no parental guide on how to deal with the threat of suicide from a child you're trying to reprimand. This moment broke her, and Frank didn't know how they'd ever bounce back from this. She looked afraid of him, and he couldn't even blame her. But he still lied to her face to de-escalate, in a much softer tone, “Paul's the one that gave it to me in the first place.” Her eyes widened in shock, and as if the heavens above couldn't even bear to watch this any longer, the obnoxious ringtone of Frank's phone in his mother's hands broke through the silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looked down to read the Caller-ID just as Dave reached the bottom of the stairs, fury in his eyes, hands balled into fists. His mother raised a hand to Dave, signaling to step back, “Keep your eyes on him, don't touch him. I mean it.” And with that she answered the call on Frank's phone, “Hello Gerard. This is Frank's mother”, she said as she made her way into the kitchen to have a conversation out of ear shot. Frank couldn't stand there with Dave's eyes shooting daggers any longer, “I'll go upstairs and clean up the mess,” he practically whispered, eyes on the floor. Dave trailed behind him up the stairs and stood in his bedroom doorway, watching Frank carefully as he sat and attempted to organize the piles of papers and all contents of his drawers scattered across the floor. He already knew his life was going to be under surveillance now, his one mistake was going to strip him of all the privacy and trust he had taken for granted. He could only imagine what his mother was saying to Gerard, or what Gerard was even saying to his mother. This was the end, the moment he didn't believe things could possibly get worse. Part of him was shocked that Dave stood there in silence as Frank unraveled; the room felt suffocating under the weight of Frank's uncontrollable sobs and frantic heavy breathing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Put on your shoes and pack a bag. You're going away for a few days”, his mother's voice spoke up, surprising both Frank and Dave who had turned to look at her. “No questions, either of you. I've had enough and don't want to hear a goddamned word”, her tone was sharp, almost threatening. Dave's eyes went big as he gasped before making direct eye contact with her that immediately shut him up. He shrugged and left the room while Frank stared at her, still breathing heavily with tears streaming down his face. He wanted to ask so many questions, but knew now that this was definitely not the time to fuck around. She stood leaning against his door frame, her hands on her hips, lips pressed in a stern straight line. Frank scurried to his feet and immediately started packing a bag. He didn't know how much to pack, so he grabbed a week's worth of clothes. “You won't need that”, she said plainly when Frank tried grabbing his shoebox under his bed. He stared at her, confused. “You really think we didn't look under the bed? I know how much you've got in there. I'm not going to touch it, but you won't need it where you're going.” Frank nodded in submission before placing it back under his bed. He had a feeling he knew where she was sending him, imagining a place with an overwhelmingly sterile smell and bright fluorescent lighting that reflected off white walls and uncomfortable no-slip grip socks. This wasn't going to be good. He zipped his bag and followed her down the stairs before putting on his shoes and following her to the car.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As I've said before, this story will not be all doom and gloom; Things just get very bad before they get better! Also, I'm already half-way through the next chapter so it shouldn't take as long before it's up! </p>
<p>As always comments are appreciated! Special thank you to anyone who's still reading!! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank stared out his window from the passenger seat as the car drove through a familiar neighborhood, unable to look straight forward and chance making eye contact with his mother. His outburst had drained him, he didn't have the energy to ask his mother where they were going, there were too many emotions rattling around in his head, anxiety welled in his chest and a restless bouncing leg to show for it. He was nauseated from wondering where the car was headed; there was no way his mother had the time or money to send him to a rehab that quick, and even that punishment seemed a bit severe for his mother, especially on a first offense. Chances were high she was taking him to a hospital, admit him to the psychiatric wing where he'd be under constant supervision, he'd given her all the ammunition she'd need to lock him up. He still wondered what his mother had said to Gerard – what Gerard could have said to his mother; Did his mother tell Gerard not to speak to him anymore? Tell him he was an addict on lockdown until further notice? Did Gerard tell his mother it wasn't a surprise? Tell her he knew he'd been doing drugs, even at school? Was he going to be expelled? Was there any way out of this? The past few weeks, Frank had known exactly what to expect from his life, he was living the same day over and over again more or less. There were no surprises and he preferred it that way, not expecting anything new until graduation approached. But now his world felt flipped upside down and not knowing what was to come made him want to curl into a ball and dissipate. He tried thinking back to moments that had brought him a false sense of peace, like the countless nights he'd spent at Gerard's, the nights he pretended he was still sleeping when he heard Gerard sigh in his sleep before wrapping his arms around Frank's torso; the mornings he'd pretend to be sleeping until Gerard woke up to avoid any awkward conversations as Gerard gasped and detached himself from Frank, before going upstairs and returning to Frank with two cups of coffee and flushed cheeks – small moments that made Frank's heart throb. The only issue now was not knowing when, or <i>if</i> he'd get another one of those weekends with Gerard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked up when the car stopped and thought his mind was playing tricks on him. “Why are we at Gerard's house?”, he asked his mother. “I spoke to Gerard and think this is the best place for you to stay for a while. He has my number if you need me”, his mother said staring straight through the driver's side window, looking directly at the house from the driveway, as if she was also trying to avoid making direct eye contact with her son. The porch light turned on a few seconds before the front door opened and Gerard stepped out, looking more disheveled than usual, hand extended outward in an awkward wave accompanied by a small nod. Frank's mother rolled down her window, before her voice raised several octaves, her tone practically mimicking one from a mother on a sitcom. “Thank you again, Gerard. I'll be in touch with your parents”, she said before glaring at Frank. He didn't look at her, but he could feel her eyes on him. Frank reached into the backseat for his duffel bag before opening the door and exiting the car. He walked around past the driver's side of the car before walking up the steps, a part of him hoping his mother would say something, anything to him before leaving him here. He was more than happy to see Gerard, and despite what a child it made him feel like; he needed to hear some sort of reassurance from his mother that things would be okay between them at some point. Even if she just said she loved him, or that she wished he had a good night, he'd be alright. But after several seconds of uncomfortable silence, he walked towards Gerard. “Love you”, he said softly without turning around. Gerard greeted him with a one-armed hug. The two boys paused for a moment, as if they were both waiting for her response. But instead, they turned to head inside when they watched the car back out of the driveway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To say the lack of response didn't bother Frank was a lie even he would never attempt to verbalize. He rubbed at his eyes viciously in attempt to wipe away the tears he knew were about to stream down his face as he followed Gerard downstairs into his bedroom. When they entered the bedroom, Gerard immediately sat on the end of his bed, eyes scanning Frank. Frank's eyes met his and he immediately noticed the hint of despair in Gerard's cold glare. “So, make yourself at home I guess”, Gerard said meekly. Frank dropped his bag to the floor next to Gerard's dresser and sat on the opposite foot of the bed, eyes staring at the carpet. He didn't want to have this conversation but knew it was inevitable. “W-w-what did my mom say?”, he asked softly, knowing there was no way to avoid this. Gerard sighed heavily before clasping his hands in his lap, “Frankie... I hate this, I hope you know that.” Frank glanced up and realized even Gerard couldn't stomach to look him in his eyes. “I knew there was a reason you wouldn't open up.. I knew there was something off and knew it was getting worse, you've been acting different, losing weight.. I should've paid more attention, asked more questions. But I didn't think it was fucking <i>heroin</i>”, Gerard's voice raised and cracked slightly as the pained words shed their lining and anger reared it's ugly head. “We're fucking seventeen, Frank. I'm not supposed to call you to hang out and have your mother fucking tell me you OD'ed on fucking heroin. This is so fucked.” Frank anxiously ran his fingers over his denim clad thighs and bounced one of his legs anxiously. He didn't know what to say, he was physically and emotionally drained and fucking humiliated; to be made to feel like a child to his mother or Dave was almost expected, but Gerard? He felt two inches tall. He didn't overdose, did he? He just made the mistake of not locking his door. Surely none of this would've happened if he just remembered to lock the door – or if Gerard had texted him on their normal schedule, right? He wanted to be angry, he wanted to be upset, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs but he couldn't feel anything right now. He was numb and just wanted to get high to avoid the conflicting thoughts, he wished he'd find a place to hide extra pills in Gerard's bathroom when he had contemplated it last week. The sound of heavy footsteps heading down the basement stairs startled Frank from his thoughts, when he looked up to see Mikey and Pete opening the bedroom door. It had to have been roughly 10pm, the usual time the boys would stroll in on a regular weekend together. Before they could even get a word in, Gerard wiped the smiles off their faces with a raised voice, “Now is not the time, Mikey! Go away!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mikey huffed and rolled his eyes before grabbing Pete's hand and dragging him back out of the room. The door closed behind them and the footsteps returned back up the stairs. Part of Frank wished they would've stayed against Gerard's demand, desperate for any sort of relief from another confrontation. How was he supposed to stay here when Gerard was seething? “Do you want me to go home?”, Frank asked. Gerard sighed in blatant annoyance and ran his fingers through his greasy hair, “Do you really think that's an option, Frank?” Frank shrugged, not understanding what was being hinted at and there was a sharp pain in his stomach over the realization that Gerard was purposely using his name formally rather than the nickname that made Frank's skip a beat; that in itself felt like enough punishment as his heart sank. “Frank, you're not here because you wanted to hang out.. You're here to detox while your mom figures out what to do.” Frank furrowed his brows and looked up at Gerard's face, “Gee, I don't need to detox. I don't know what my mom told you but.. I'm not a junkie and everyone is treating me like a fucking criminal!” And somehow that was all it took to set Gerard off, his face went red and eyes went dark as he quickly got off the bed and yanked Frank up by his arm pulling him into the bathroom. Before Frank could protest, Gerard was holding his shoulders from behind. Frank hissed as his hip bones were pressed into the bathroom counter. Gerard roughly grabbed at Frank's left wrist, pulling his sleeve up, “<i>That</i> doesn't look like it needs detox!? <i>That</i> doesn't look like the arm of a heroin addict!?”, Gerard scolded through gritted teeth, forcing Frank to look at his reflection, specifically the bruising up and down his arm. Frank also scanned his entire reflection, noticing the dark pools his eyes seemed to drown in, contrasting against his pallid skin, how his collar bones resembled small saucers. His eyes met Gerard's and immediately wished he hadn't as Gerard released him from his grip and stormed back into his bedroom, sitting on the bed. Frank followed, head down like a scolded puppy with it's tail between it's legs. He moved his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come out; there was nothing he could say to make things better, no spur of the moment lies that would magically dig him out of this. He hated himself for thinking it again but he just wished he were still high, while the smaller, weaker side of his mind wished he could promise Gerard he'd be better in the morning and never get high again if it was what made the other happy. “I'll get better. I don't need it”, he whispered and cringed at how it sounded more like a question than a statement. But even he couldn't decipher if he was telling Gerard, or asking himself. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gerard sighed in frustration, “I hope you mean it. Because I refuse to give your fucking eulogy. I won't make it without you. I need you, I fucking love you Frankie.” His tone squeaked as his voice cracked and when Frank looked up, Gerard was crying hysterically. Frank wished he heard the last sentence in a different context, a completely different situation resembling a rom-com happy ending, instead of everyone around him suddenly thinking he was just going to drop dead. He wished Gerard told him he loved him while peppering his face with innocent kisses, instead of avoiding eye contact and trembling in fear. He scooted towards Gerard and wrapped his arms around him, the urge to console his friend seeming much more important than how badly his body itched for drugs, for the <i>moment</i>. “Gee, I'm not going anywhere, you're my best friend. I'll get better, you'll see. I'll stop”, Frank's own shaking words surprised him, even if he knew he was just saying what needed to be heard. Gerard barely responded to Frank's embrace, and Frank read it as doubt despite his friend's response, “I really, really fucking hope so. I don't to be with someone who's just going to make me watch them kill themselves.” Be with? Frank choked as his head spun. “Be friends with someone who's going to make me watch them kill themselves, I mean”, Gerard quickly correct and Frank exhaled, mainly in disappointment, hoping it wasn't noticeable. Frank quickly removed his arms from Gerard and stared at the floor as he kicked his shoes off. Gerard placed his hand on Frank's knee as he looked into his eyes, “I seriously hope you're being honest with me, Frank.” He wiped his eyes before getting up to dim the lights. He grabbed the remote to play a movie on the lowest volume possible, “Let's just go to sleep. You're going to need all the rest you can get, it's going to be a rough week, and to be completely honest, I don't even know if I'm ready for it.” Gerard got under the covers before pointing out the several bottles of water he'd left on the floor next to Frank's side of the bed. Frank got under the covers and they sat in silence, knowing Gerard wasn't sleeping by the sound of his uneven breathing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Practically an hour had passed and he knew Gerard was finally asleep, he had listened to Gerard's muffled sobs for almost twenty minutes and his breath was becoming much more relaxed. He wished Gerard didn't cry over him, it broke his heart and he had not a single word of reassurance to offer, he knew nothing he said would bring Gerard clarity. He knew Gerard well enough at this point to know he believed actions spoke louder than words. About fifteen more minutes had passed before he had finally believed Gerard had cried himself to sleep. “I'll get better. For you”, he whispered to the sleeping boy who's back faced him. He closed his eyes as he felt himself doze off, his body finally gifting him the emotional release of sleep. He heard a muffled whisper as he drifted off, “You need to do it for yourself, Frankie.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frank's eyes shot open and he immediately looked up for the time on the alarm clock on Gerard's dresser, shocked to see it wasn't late morning, but 3:30 am. His hair clung to his face and his shirt was soaked to his skin, sending a chill through his body. He shuffled out of bed and felt around for his bag in the dark; Gerard must've gotten up at some point and turned the lights off, the only light source was faint, a nightlight plugged in in Gerard's bathroom. Frank picked his duffel bag up and brought it to the bathroom to avoid waking Gerard. He stripped his clothes, replacing them with a clean band tee and boxers. His body felt like it was on fire, he could feel the heat radiating off of the palms of his hands as he changed. He walked over to the sink and splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would cool him off rather than wake him up. He pushed his wet hair off of his face and returned to bed. Despite his body set ablaze internally, the chill that ran up his spine without a blanket made him shiver. He forced himself back under the blanket before reaching over and chugging three of the water bottles in hopes to somehow stop his body from sweating profusely. It worked momentarily before he convinced himself to push past the burning and try to get comfortable in bed. He tossed and turned for several moments, trying to the best of his ability not to wake up Gerard. He still had too many emotions ricocheting through his head without the ability to hold onto a single one for more than a few seconds and would do anything in his power to postpone another talk about the changes he was essentially being forced to make. His head felt like a ticking time-bomb. He found a somewhat comfortable position and took a deep breath before closing his eyes in attempt to return to his slumber. He laid there, forcefully keeping his mind empty. He could've sworn he dozed off on and off for hours, but with clenched eyes he was unable to tell how much time had passed. All he could focus on was the sweat dripping from his forehead and the beat of his heart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>←⚞❋⚟→</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Frank... Frank... Are you okay!?”, Gerard's voice and hand on his shoulder awoke him, confused. Frank opened his eyes and stared at Gerard who's face was painted with concern. “W-What's going on?”, Frank asked, groggily before yawning. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, not feeling refreshed in the slightest. His body felt like he had ran a marathon, muscles sore, a dull ache engulfed him. As he perched himself up on his elbows, he immediately understood why Gerard had looked so worried. Gerard's comforter had been scattered to the side, and the sheets both beneath and around Frank were darkened. His shirt and boxers clung to him, similar to his hair that stuck to his face; He was soaked in sweat. Gerard reached forward cautiously, placing the back of his hand on Frank's forehead, “Holy shit, Frankie, you're burning up!” Frank reached over for Gerard's comforter both to conceal and warm him; He knew his sweat had left him soaked, but he felt as if he were thrown in the snow as he felt his hair stand up, goosebumps scattered across the skin of his arms. Gerard pulled at the comforter as Frank shivered, struggling to keep himself covered. “Gerard, this isn't funny, I'm fucking freezing!”, he spat. He knew it was gross to lay in a puddle of his own perspiration but he needed warmth. As the blanket was successfully snatched by Gerard, Frank's hands flew back into his face and he felt the heat that radiated off them once again. He didn't understand how he could feel freezing from the inside and still deny the heat that emanated from his body. Gerard grabbed his hand forcefully and yanked his body out of the bed, his own protests falling on deaf ears as his body was all but dragged into the bathroom. Gerard pulled him into the tub before immediately jumping out and reaching over to turn to cold water of the shower on. “What the actual <i>fuck</i>, Gerard!?”, Frank yelled as the water pelted his body, still fully clothed. “You're burning up, Frank”, Gerard exclaimed, rolling his eyes as if his argument made any sense at all. Frank tried and failed to argue against his chattering teeth, just pulled his knees to his chest and stared angrily at Gerard before it hit him. He didn't have the chance to gain any sort of composure before the stabbing pain in his stomach hit him at the speed of the light. Without a second thought, he leaned forward on his knees and began to vomit into the drain. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd eaten, but he didn't think it had been <i>that</i> long as his eyes widened at the bright yellow-green liquid spewing violently from his mouth, splashing off the drain and mixing with the freezing water that circled it. Frank choked as he reached upwards to turn off the showerhead. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked up at Gerard angrily, who just stared back at him in shock. “I guess it's started”, Gerard said plainly. “What's started?”, Frank said, now trying to pull his sopping wet shirt off of his body. Gerard crouched down, eye level to Frank from outside the tub, “When's the last time you used?” Frank didn't understand and knew there could be no possible way Gerard was actually insinuating he was going through withdrawals. He had gone hours without railing or shooting dope without feeling this way, there was no possible way he could even be going through withdrawals. People who went through withdrawals needed their fix 24/7 in Frank's eyes, but he was still a functioning person.. there was no way he could go through withdrawals, right? “Like 5:30 last night, what are you implying?”, Frank said through chattering teeth, reaching for the towel Gerard was now handing him. He peeled the wet boxers off as he wrapped himself in the towel. Frank was so irritated with Gerard's response to him clearly being sick, was everyone going to write him off as a junkie going through withdrawals when he was clearly experiencing a cold like never before? “Gerard, I'm not withdrawing or whatever drug related shit you're assuming. I've gone this long without dope without feeling this way. I'm not a fucking junkie”, Frank spat, kneeling to dig through his duffel bag for something warm. “What do you do when you're not doing heroin?”, Gerard asked, standing upright and looking down on him now, hand pressed to his chin as if deep in thought. Frank grabbed a black long sleeved thermal shirt, boxers, socks and thick pair of black sweatpants. God forgive him, he thought, but in this moment he wanted to scream in Gerard's face; he thought out of everyone Gerard wouldn't treat him any different after last night, but he had thought wrong. “Xanax, and Oxy's”, Frank said, teeth still chattering as he tried to slip into his clothes while concealing his body under the towel. “Exactly”, Gerard said softly. Frank looked up at him questioningly, only in his shirt and boxers before needing to kneel over the toilet and vomit again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Frank felt his body had nothing left to expel, he looked back up at Gerard questioningly with furrowed brows. He put his socks and sweatpants on, awaiting a response. “I know you're going to deny it, but I've been searching what to expect this week. Frank, you're going through withdrawals. It's been like, sixteen hours since you've used. Your body doesn't know what to do without drugs”, Gerard said in such a calm, matter-of-fact way as if he were discussing the fucking weather. Frank followed him back into the bedroom and sat on the couch as he watched Gerard change his bed sheets. He didn't want to think too much about it, he didn't want to accept that his body may or may have not actually be going through early stages of withdrawals. Accepting that meant accepting that he was a drug addict, accepting that meant accepting all of the humiliation he had been trying to shove deep down into his empty stomach. He just wanted to feel normal, and if feeling normal meant getting high, he had no problem with that...except he still didn't have his phone. He had no way of knowing how long feeling like this would last, and he'd be damned before swallowing his pride in this moment to ask Gerard about what was happening to his body. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>←⚞❋⚟→</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The following few days were filled with Frank's anguish and Gerard's exhaustion. Gerard's patience for Frank seemed endless, outside of the handful of aggravated sighs, he had remained calm, his composure never falling victim to indecisiveness or worry as he sat and consoled Frank through all of his near-theatrical mood swings that he personally denied, and all of Frank's physical ailments. Gerard managed to keep up his constant front to Frank; whether it be holding an ice-pack wrapped in a washcloth to Frank's forehead when he complained of hot flashes, damned-near force-feeding Frank Morning Star chik'n nuggets when he noticed Frank had gone hours without eating despite claiming no appetite, or rubbing circles into Frank's back as his body rejected said chik'n nuggets into Gerard's toilet. Gerard refused to provoke Frank's bouts of anger, pretending Frank wasn't even in the room as Frank rambled aimlessly about how none of this was actually his fault, how Gerard should blame Frank's mother for pawning him off on him instead of dealing with Frank herself. Gerard's face remained pliant and unbothered as he changed the sheets of his bed daily from Frank's constantly fluctuating body temperature while Frank somehow managed to fall asleep on the couch, both of the boys knowing he'd never actually reach REM mode. And Gerard kept a straight face as he struggled to deny Frank the privilege of using Gerard's cell phone, scratching at his skin and <i>'swearing he just needed to call his mom and check in'</i>, Gerard trusting his gut-feeling that told him Frank was lying and just going to call his dealer; he swore to himself if he ever found out who Frank's dealer was, he'd personally beat the man to a bloody pulp for ever enabling someone as vulnerable as his <i>friend, his Frankie</i> to something so cruel and unforgiving as the drugs that his body currently rioted without. Gerard sat patiently through Frank's restless limbs in the middle of the night that had a tendency to kick the comforter they shared off of Gerard's legs. But at the end of each passing day, Gerard was <i>fucking exhausted.</i> The very few days that had passed left Gerard feeling like months had passed of him living on edge, a constant care-taker, the constant mental reminder that he simply shouldn't be in this position bursting through his mind each night. Gerard wanted to be angry at Frank's mother, it felt like she brushed off her responsibilities onto a goddamned teenager for Christ's sake; but Gerard always overrode those thoughts by putting himself in Frank's mothers shoes. He wouldn't know what to do if he were her either, and he knew from both their original conversation and the texts they'd exchanged since Frank was dropped off, that she was essentially getting her house in order. Mrs. Iero was excavating her home with a fine-toothed comb to insure there were no traces of drugs, meticulously researching for resources whether support groups for parents of addicts, whether she'd need to send Frank to a rehab center, whether he needed therapy, what to expect afterwards. The poor woman's world had easily been flipped upside down, for two years she had thought her son had just had some undiagnosed social anxiety disorder, or maybe he was struggling with his sexuality that she had already assumed while he refused to talk to her about, only to find him unconscious on his bedroom floor, practically foaming at the mouth. Gerard sympathized with her, and didn't want to admit to a soul that outside of his own concerns and heartbreak, took this as an opportunity to be a hopefully strong figure in Frank's life. He had sincerely hoped that this was just something Frank would realize was a mistake once he had detoxed, hoped Frank would be more than thankful for Gerard, admire Gerard even. Gerard knew it was selfish, and unlikely. But more than anything he wanted to be the one Frank yearned for more than a fix. But in those attempts to seem strong and tranquil, a safehaven for Frank, Gerard had to push those desires deep down, focusing on the present. The present that was draining him caring for Frank. Before the past few days, Gerard had only found such solace alone behind his closed bedroom door, the room full of art supplies and sharp objects, or in his dreams back when Frank slept soundly in the bed beside him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The days had flown much different for Frank; constantly fighting several battles between the physiological aches of his body versus wanting privacy and isolation versus never wanting to be left alone. His anxieties from prior years before the substances subdued him had sought out the opportunity in his vulnerability to revisit him; in fact it had shown up unannounced like a drunk uncle at a baptism, or a scorned lover voicing objections at an ex's wedding just as the vows have been finished. If he sat still for too long, his bones itched to gyrate. If the room got too quiet for a moment, he could feel his heartbeat thump throughout his body, legs throbbing in tune to the steady beats until his breathing hitched and heart rates increasing was enough to set him off into a hyperventilating frenzy. He couldn't be alone or he'd anxiously bite at his nails and pick at insecurity-induced imaginary blemishes on his skin, bounce his leg and tug on his overgrown hair, anything to keep him going, he simply could not sit still. Everything put him on edge: the room could not be too loud or too quiet, too bright or too dark,  everything had to be perfectly balanced to his mind's standards as his body fluctuated between hot and cold every several minutes - <i>thirty minutes</i>, he'd known because he had compulsively counted the seconds. He did the math in his head for how many doorknobs were in his home by memory, counted the ceiling tiles of Gerard's bedroom, counted how many tubes of acrylic paint or colored pencils sat scattered across Gerard's desk. He wanted to be alone but anytime Gerard left the room, his skin felt scorched in lava, melting off the bone, as if something was being ripped from him and he couldn't stand the thoughts that plagued his mind; more likely than not all things that would make Gerard lose all contact if he were able to read Frank's thoughts. The constant focus back and forth from anxieties of years' past and the yearning for the drugs that made those chaotic thoughts stop, were tearing Frank in half. While part of him resented Gerard for being so adamant on guiding Frank through sobriety while Frank's body so obviously protested, he was also thankful for Gerard's level-head keeping Frank's head above the water. But more than anything, Frank was absolutely terrified. Not only for how his life was going to be once he returned home, but for where his relationship with Gerard was going to be once he went home. Why would Gerard want anything to do with Frank after a week of feeding him, cleaning up after him, listening to his near-suicidal rants, putting up with his uncontrollable outbursts of rage and whining and tears and begging for him to let him leave to get high one last time. Who would ever want someone like that in their life? It was the shame of it all that truly got under Frank's skin, the desperation and lack of dignity or decency that had Frank falling apart at the seams. Where would they go from here?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the next two chapters should be up the next few days. i sound like a broken record but kudos/comments/feedback is always appreciated endlessly! and thankyouthankyouthankyou to those are that are still reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bert sat at the small kitchen table across from his uncle, toast half-eaten on the plate in front of him, as he lit a cigarette. His uncle Stephen's focus bounced back and forth between the Trenton paper to his cell phone, muttering to himself about the stock market. Bert twitched in his seat, loathing that this was how his holiday break from school had panned out thus far. He had plenty of friends at his last school, most of which he'd lost contact with as he was not allowed to have his own computer and his time spent on the “family computer” in the study room was not only heavily monitored by programs he didn't understand enough to bypass, but time-limited daily. He dreaded the moment he returned to school and everyone shared stories from their vacation and he had nothing contribute; What would he say? That he was still forced to wake up early Monday through Friday, despite not having school and despite his uncle still leaving for work early those days? How even on the weekends he was usually woke up by 9:00am the latest to sit and eat a poor excuse for breakfast with his uncle as he searched through his mind for ice-breakers? He had made friends at his new school with Frank and Gerard, but he still felt out of place when he spent time with them. He enjoyed his time alone with Frank the few times his step-father had brought him over, because they'd get stoned and listen to music, or watch shitty horror films from the 70's, and sometimes Frank would play on Bert's spare guitar and they'd jokingly make music together after smoking a few bowls. Frank was quiet, soft-spoken and blatantly insecure but Bert enjoyed his company. However the few times Frank had invited Bert to Gerard's house, Bert felt uncomfortable. He would force himself through it, refusing to show insecurity or vulnerability, but Frank seemed like a different person when he was at Gerard's; He was either falling asleep sitting up, chin rested in his palms propped up to elbows pressed deeply into his knobby knees, or was beaming at every word that fell from Gerard's mouth. Bert noticed Frank wouldn't smoke with him before heading to Gerard's. Bert could understand how easily Frank could be captivated by Gerard; he was beautiful, and nerdy, and well-spoken, and somehow as much of a mess as he was put-together. Gerard laughed loudly and said what was on his mind without hesitance, he had a cocky vibe to him, moreso confidence that flowed through his veins unless you brought up his art or complimented him. When you complimented him about anything at all, his face would flush almost immediately, and Bert felt his heart flutter at the contrast of pink cheeks against Gerard's pale skin. Bert swooned at the way Gerard's hazel eyes would peak through his long dark eyelashes, looking up at him each time he'd receive a compliment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But still, Bert felt that three was a crowd when he was with Frank and Gerard. Frank seemed interested in Gerard, but distant, always an invisible border between him and the world around him. Bert was desperate to keep the company of those he sincerely enjoyed, so he quickly found topics to discuss when the room would fall eerily silent. Bert had learned at a young age to always be extremely observant of other's body language, facial expressions and the tones of voices. And so he took every opportunity to lighten the mood when Frank or Gerard's body language or speech would allow the room to fill with unbearable tension. They avoided certain subjects, each had their own topics they would refuse to comment on, all random and unintentionally provokingly triggered. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit though, the more Bert thought about it. Several days ago, his neighbor, Frank's step-father Dave, had stopped by unannounced and urged to speak to Stephen in a panic. Bert knew to go upstairs to his bedroom and close the door when his legal guardian had guests over, constantly being reminded to stay in his place through his uncle's harsh words. When Dave had left, Bert's uncle had entered his room without knocking, little to no privacy for a teenage boy when Stephen refused to allow Bert to have a door that locked; it was the first change he made when they had moved in. He sped to the hardware store to buy a doorknob without a lock to replace the original doorknob on Bert's bedroom door. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stephen had walked in with a drug test, demanding Bert get up and piss in the plastic cup. Bert obliged knowing the only thing that would show up was marijuana, the only thing his uncle shamelessly allowed him to indulge in, outside of the occasional alcoholic beverages when he was hosting company parties and had far surpassed the point of concern for his nephew, reassurance of him being home and not out partying recklessly without a sober babysitter. Stephen said nothing to Bert until the results had appeared as expected; clean of all drugs outside of pot. It wasn't until that moment that Stephen told Bert about the “neighbor kid” apparently overdosing on heroin. Stephen looked distressed when emphasizing how upset Dave had apparently been over the ordeal; he had told Bert about how Dave showed up on the verge of tears, not a word slurred which was fairly new and relieving, as his uncle had said. Stephen went on to warn Bert that he'd be out of a home before he could even defend himself if he were to ever find Bert in the same situation. The sentiment confused Bert although he nodded in understanding as his uncle spoke. Bert had known since his parent's unexpected death that his uncle saw him as much more of a burden and an extra monthly check rather than his own child and Stephen had made that painfully clear as the years went by; a reminder as each school year Bert started that he was another year closer to being out of his uncle's hair. </p>
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<p>Bert didn't think about the whole thing too much; if anything it confused him more that he couldn't recall an ambulance or the sound of the neighbor's car skidding out of the driveway in a rush if Frank had overdosed. He took his uncle's word for it when he thought of all the times he had seen Frank stop speaking mid-sentence, or repeatedly rub his sleeve at his nose and sniffle with heavy-lidded eyes, let alone all the times Frank had forgotten how to play cords he and Bert had written down displayed in a notebook in front of them. It was believable with all the times Frank would nod off at Gerard's house, leaving Gerard and Bert to giggle at awkward small talk as Frank had unintentionally made it obvious he had personally clocked out of the hang-out. Those were the moments Bert secretly cherished, they were the moments Gerard would open up about his life while passing Bert a bottle of cheap, disgusting vodka, always praised him for not needing a chaser like Frank or Mikey. He liked Frank enough and was a decent enough person to obviously not <i>want</i> Frank to be struggling under the weight of addiction, but he wasn't going to lie to himself and say he didn't enjoy Gerard's attention the few opportunities he had to receive it without Frank's glares.</p>
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<p>“So what's up with that kid, Frank?”, Stephen's voice cut through Bert's thoughts of Gerard's bonny face. “What about him?”, Bert asked, confused on the sudden conversation starter focused on Frank, who hadn't been mentioned in almost a week, since the apparent overdose. Stephen placed the paper flat on the table in front of him, after moving his own half-eaten plate to the side. “You two hang out, what's he like?”, Stephen asked, as he picked up his cup of coffee and took a long sip. Bert wanted to know why Frank was the conversational segway interrupting breakfast, but he knew better than to plainly question his guardian. “He's cool, pretty quiet. I don't know much about him outside of music and guitars, honestly”, Bert shrugged, raising his eyebrows at his uncle, as if to prove he didn't know much more. “'s a shame he does hard drugs, feel bad for Dave and Linda”, Bert added, hoping empathizing with his uncle's new friends would keep his mood relaxed. They had already had the fake-surprised conversation the night it all happened, so Bert didn't feel the need to dive deeper into his previous statement. </p>
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<p>“He got a girlfriend or anything?”, Stephen asked as he lit his own cigarette. Bert couldn't hold in the scoff as he looked at his uncle in a way that asked if he was being serious in his question. When his uncle raised his brows, questioning Bert's response without having to verbalize it, Bert looked at him with wide, amused eyes. “Uncle Steve, I'm pretty sure Frank is gay”, Bert responded as he put out his own cigarette in the ashtray placed in the center of the small round table. “Did he say he was? Dave said he suspected as much but I thought it was one of those... generational fashion differences, or what have you?”, Stephen said, cocking an eyebrow at his nephew. Bert laughed again to himself softly, bewildered at the the idea that someone could've assumed Frank was straight and waiting for the 'right girl'. “I mean, he hasn't flat-out told me he's gay! But, the way he stares at Gerard-” As much as Bert resented his uncle, he had never said anything remotely homophobic, or hateful towards any specific groups of people, and his uncle had also been aware for a while that his nephew was openly bisexual; it caught him off guard when his uncle cut him off to ask, “Wait, the Gerard you hang out with sometimes?” Bert shook his head softly to himself, “Yeah, Gerard and Frank are like best friends. And Frank just ogles Gerard when we hang out together.. He eats up anything Gerard says”, Bert scoffed, while thanking himself internally for not mentioning all the times Frank nodded off, his new outside sources silently confirming to himself that Frank was a dopehead. “His eyes are always on Gerard, he stares at him like a trophy. Even if Gerard isn't looking, Frank just stares at him and laughs too hard when Gerard makes bad jokes.. He practically follows Gerard like a lost puppy. Plus the rumors..”, Bert silently kicked himself for accidentally adding fuel to a conversation he didn't even care to continue. It was beyond difficult to have a conversation with his uncle; they'd either laugh and joke like friends, or his uncle would be accusing Bert of backtalk and threatening punishments, sometimes following through with said punishments. There was never any way of knowing which side of the fence his uncle was on with him, but it brought him slight comfort when he caught sight of his uncle's bemused face in a smirk. “What rumors?”, his uncle laughed and for a moment, the small talk and the casualness of it brought Bert a sense of relief. He didn't want to share high school gossip with his uncle so he could report back to the boy's step dad, or start a fight that included him questioning how seriously Bert took school or not, which usually lead to a conversation on Bert's grades and whether he was keeping his parents proud or not ; it was always hard to tell what Stephen wanted from him. “Come on – spill. I'm an old man, I need some dramatic high school rumors to keep me on my toes,” Stephen laughed, somehow confirming to Bert that he meant it, that he was just curious about the rumors that spread through the school about the quiet neighbor kid. </p>
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<p>“Well there's a whole mix of rumors through our entire grade about him”, Bert smirked, hoping the more he spoke, the better side he'd be on with his guardian who more often than not, was completely against Bert's humor in anything, whether it directly affected them or not. Bert had hoped that their neighbor, Dave's concern for Frank had influenced his uncle to appreciate him, especially as one of his only blood relatives left. Bert was under the impression that Stephen had only started this conversation about Frank because it was the only tie connecting them back to each other in a sense, even if it were only socially – through their relationships with their neighbors. Stephen folded up the paper in front of him and placed it to the side, eyebrows raising as if urging Bert to elaborate further. The expressions between the two reminded Bert of gushing teenage girls on a horribly acted cable television movie. “Well, there's this kid Paul who picks on him with his friends, but apparently it's because Frank kept trying.. y'know making advances at him... er, sexually”, Bert purposely kept out the part of the rumors that had anything to do with drugs. He really didn't see his uncle as reporting back to Dave and Linda, but as Frank's friend, didn't want to completely throw him under the bus, if the conversation did find it's way to be paraphrased back to the neighbors; Bert needed to hold onto all friendships he could at this school, there was only so much time til graduation and he hadn't planned on going to college, making the friendships he made this year crucial to him. “So he tried to fuck a popular kid?”, Stephen questioned, almost looking disgusted. “No, the other way around – apparently Frank kept trying to <i>blow</i> the guy...but the guy is straight as an arrow. From the rumors, Frank was willing to do anything to get a chance with the guy and practically begged him time and time again”, Bert explained. Stephen checked his phone's notifications quickly again before asking his nephew, “But does he really seem like the kid who would do something like that? He seems so shy.” Bert lit a fresh cigarette before elaborating, “Doesn't seem like the guy to do that at all, but if you saw the way he acts around Gerard you'd believe it. He looks at Gerard like he's an angel, his face always gets all red, and the way Gerard reacts to it.. like he's oblivious. If Gerard told him to jump I swear Frank would ask how high.. and when the guys at school pick on him over the rumors, he just puts his head down like he can't hear anything.. I can't tell if he just doesn't wanna egg 'em on or if he's guilty. Whole thing's totally fucking weird”, Bert told his uncle, ashing his cigarette. “Has he ever talked about it to you?”, Stephen pressed. Bert inhaled deeply before responding, “No, he's never brought it up and I thought it'd be rude to ask up front. But Gerard told me he thinks they had some sort of relationship. Said that whenever Paul's name comes up, Frank just shuts down.”</p>
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<p>Stephen cleared his throat and stood up from the table, grabbing their plates, clearing them off before placing them in the sink. “Strange kid. Dave mentioned he's coming back home today, so a head's up, he might be stopping by this week, and might really need a friend”, he suggested before heading upstairs to shower. Bert was confused at his interest in Bert investing in friendships. Maybe his uncle was turning over a new leaf finally, maybe he was acknowledging all of Bert's efforts to stay on his best behavior. He stood up and made his way over to the sink, beginning to wash the dishes and hoping it wouldn't go unnoticed by Uncle Steve.</p>
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<p>It had officially been a week since Frank had been dropped off at Gerard's, and he had realized the last two days had been significantly easier. Easier in the sense of he wasn't waking up drenched in his own sweat and the constant chill in his bones had seemed to defrost, his stomach ached constantly but was no longer in sharp knots, he was holding food down and regained his appetite. He was still on edge, still riddled with anxiety and tried to shove it down, mask it without becoming physically distraught, without lashing out. He was not feeling great, or even okay, but significantly better than he had for the larger part of the past week. He had spent all of last night and this morning cleaning Gerard's bedroom and bathroom, guilt looming over him for how as his symptoms subsided, he was more aware of how exhausted Gerard had looked. He sat and watched a few movies with Gerard the night prior, in attempt to light the fire under his mind's ass to adapt faster, clutching desperately for any sense of normalcy. He needed to know that his relationship with Gerard would be able to recover from this week. He appreciated Gerard for his attentiveness and seemingly genuine concern, but hated how pitiful he was allowing Gerard to drop everything he was doing to join Frank's side every time Frank had clutched his stomach, how quickly Gerard got up to cook the second Frank nodded when asked if hungry. He was tired of feeling pathetic and was trying to return the favor, while trying to silence the voice in his head that screamed for drugs. He could see how rundown his friend was from the sleepless nights and constant supervising; Gerard would frequently call Mikey down to keep Frank company when he showered, though they all knew keeping Frank company was a polite way of saying he wasn't trusted not to bolt out of the house, only destination a bender to undo the week of sickness and sobriety.</p>
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<p>Frank sat on Gerard's couch and looked over the backrest as Mikey sat across from him on the foot of Gerard's bed with Pete. “I don't wanna be rude or whatever, but how are you feeling?”, Pete asked hesitantly as his hand ran up the back of Mikey's shirt, thinking he was being inconspicuous. Mikey tried to stifle his smile, knowing it was inappropriate for the conversation that hung in the air. Gerard was in the bathroom, taking a shower. Frank tried not to focus too hard, but he noticed it was yet another “shower” where for twenty minutes the shower head sent a stream into an empty tub. “I've been better”, Frank mumbled, somehow managing to feel more embarrassed than he had all week. An annoying ringtone went off that made the three jump. “Fuck, my mom's outside”, Pete gasped, picking up his phone and shoving it in his back pocket. Forgetting Frank was less than two feet away, he reached up and gave Mikey a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, “Gotta go, I'll try to come over before break's over”, he whispered. Mikey nodded, ignoring Frank and still followed Pete upstairs to bid the boy a proper farewell. </p>
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<p>Frank's body twitched in the newfound silence; it had been hard for him to spend time alone and his body urged him to shake in it's seat. His leg bounced, and his fingers twiddled, unsure of what to do with himself. He tried his best not to focus on the time displayed on Gerard's alarm clock that told him he had been in the shower for nearly an hour now. At this point in their friendship, Frank was well-aware that Gerard put off frequent showers, and knew damned well his showers never took this long. His anxiety skyrocketed and he tried to tell himself it was all in his head, but there was an overwhelming feeling in his gut that told him something was off. Granted, he had been at the Way's residence for a consecutive week and hadn't left Gerard's bedroom in more than half as many days, something didn't feel right. It almost didn't click how fast Mikey was to leave him unsupervised, not that Frank was complaining and the logical side of his brain told him that Mikey trusted Frank to mind his own business at this point instead of focusing on his relationships, than to tattle to his older brother.. It was roughly around 6pm, and Frank's mother was supposedly picking him up in two hours and he wanted to spend as much time with Gerard as possible beforehand. The week didn't feel like 168 hours when he spent 120 of those hours silently praying he'd die, at the time it felt much more preferable to his insides eating at themselves, the bouts of depression and practically vomiting all over himself.  Something felt off, similar to the feeling the day he got caught. Frank stood up and with trembling arms reached forward to push on the bathroom door after jiggling the handle. “Gerard? Are you okay? Been in there a while..”, Frank's voice shook. He twisted the doorknob again, more frantically to no avail. “Gerard!?”, Frank shrieked, catching the attention of Mikey who practically flew down the basement stairs. “What happened?”, Mikey asked. “He's just been in there for almost an hour and he's not answering. The door is locked”, Frank stammered, eyes wide on Mikey as he ran his palms along the thighs of his jeans. Mikey's eyes scanned the floor before he picked up a coin, attempting to to use it to unlock the bathroom door from the outside as he repeatedly slammed his fist into the door.  </p>
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<p>“Gee, it's Mikey, I'm coming in!”, his voice raised. Frank could tell Mikey was trying to remain collected, but the uncertainty in his voice made Frank's stomach churn. Mikey turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly and Frank had to fight the urge to shove past him. Mikey's small frame blocked Frank's view, but all he heard was white-noise after Mikey's blood-curdling scream for his mother and father. The parents were down the basement stairs and scrambling past Frank and into the bathroom within seconds. All Frank could do was stand there, his body refusing to move it's tingling limbs. He could see everyone's frantic movements in his peripherals; he could see Mrs. Way shaking her head with her cell phone to her ear, could see Mr. Way's firm grip on Mikey's shoulders as he shook violently. Frank's head was in a daze, and he felt like he were going to pass out the second he felt someone gently push him backwards. He knew someone was talking to him, but couldn't make the words out. His ears were ringing and his face numb, but he couldn't peel his eyes away from the bathroom floor. So much blood pooled on the white-tiled floor. </p>
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<p>He felt warm hands on his shoulders turn him around and sit him down on the bed facing the opposite direction. He wanted to move, but the high-pitched static in his ears and hands on his shoulder kept him grounded in his seat. He felt his eyes blink shut, but even in that moment, there was no darkness. All he saw behind closed lids was the blood on the bathroom floor. He felt completely disconnected from his body, as if his mind was still standing next to Mikey outside of the bathroom door. He didn't know how much time had passed, couldn't fathom what was going on. He just sat and waited for the frequency of the ringing in his ears to subside.</p>
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<p>“Frank, your mom is here”, Mikey's voice broke through Frank's trance. Had two hours passed already? What happened? Was this some sort of fucked up nightmare? He turned to his right towards Mikey with wide, blank eyes. Mikey's glasses were fogged, face red and splotched from crying. “He's going to be okay. They're gonna help him, this time”, Mikey whispered. There was still an unsettling uncertainty in his voice that made Frank's blood run cold. “What happened?”, Frank asked, needing answers. Mikey wiped his face with his hands, sighing heavily, “Frank, your mom is here. You have to go.” Frank's eyes scanned the room, neck craned to look at the bathroom, the door now closed. “Frank, I'll keep you updated. He had another accident. He'll be okay, alright? Your mom is waiting”, Mikey's normally soft tone was somehow gentler than usual, intending to bring Frank some sort of comfort. But it didn't.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two days had passed since Frank's mother picked him up from Gerard's house. Two entire days, forty-eight hours of twisted nerves and agony where Frank laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling in a near-catatonic state. Things were not as terrible between his mother, Dave and him as he had anticipated upon his return, but he wasn't sure if he was even comprehending the new changes while his mind fixated on thoughts of Gerard. His mother hugged him the second he sat down in the car, apologizing for whatever had happened to Gerard and telling him how much she had missed her son during his stay at the Way's. He wanted so badly to just ask his mother if she even knew what happened to his friend, but the words never left his mouth. In the past two days of being home, Frank had hardly muttered less than three words to anyone. That first night home, it was almost expected of him to go to bed immediately, left with nothing but a string of promises of a discussion to be had the next morning. Frank's bed felt too big to sleep in alone, he had grown accustomed to the smell of Gerard's bedroom, even if it was just the fabric softener used on the bedding Gerard had been forced to change every morning while Frank was sick. Frank still felt waves of panic being alone, and it irked him not knowing why, he felt petrified in his own bedroom. He fell asleep fully dressed with the lights on and his bedroom door wide-open, trying not to get hung up on the realization that the lock had been taken off his bedroom door during his absence. He awoke in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning; too many nightmares of crimson liquid meant to carry out oxygen through the body, <i>Gerard's body</i>, pooling through the cracks of the cold, alabaster tiles.</p><p> </p><p>The next morning his mother beckoned him to follow her, as she passed his bedroom to make their way downstairs. Dave joined them, sitting next to his mother, directly across from him at the kitchen table. Frank pulled on the sleeve's of his sweater and stared at his lap until the snapping of Dave's fingers grabbed his attention. He watched as Dave gripped his mother's hand tightly on the table in front of them, not to threaten – but to comfort? They had taken turns explaining the new rules of the house. Frank was essentially grounded, for the first time in his life, but somehow this was much more than that: He was not allowed to leave the house without them knowing exactly where he was, until further notice. If he were to go off somewhere without telling them, he'd come home to a drug test and extended punishment. He was going to be going to therapy biweekly once his mother was able to schedule him an intake appointment, and he was offered the option of attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings, <i>supervised ofcourse</i>, which he repeatedly declined. His head already felt fucked up and still unable to comprehend how fast everything had changed within a week, he didn't want to stand in a room full of strangers and introduce himself as an addict, and with the way things were going... he wasn't even entirely sure if he wanted to 'stay clean'. But then there was another thing; He would not be getting his phone back until school was back in session. And when school was back in session, he was expected to go directly to and from school, no sidetracking, no staying late, no heading directly to Gerard's, unless it was confirmed both ahead of time and at the time of arrival between both parents. He was officially on the lockdown he was warned about before his departure. His head spun; No phone for two weeks? No way of contacting Justin. No way of contacting Gerard. No way for Mikey to contact him and update the way he promised. Frank felt light-headed,  he tapped his tingling fingers on his thighs anxiously under the table as he felt his vision fade. “Frank”, he heard Dave's voice accompanied by a firm hand on his shoulder, “Take a deep breath, focus on your surroundings.” Frank tried to peel his eyes open wider, but he was in too deep, far too gone. He couldn't handle change, why wasn't that obvious? He was always stuck in the past and the rest of the world never seemed to have an issue with leaving him in the dust. He couldn't confront his feelings on his father's abandonment, his family's abandonment, for fuck's sake; he couldn't even confront his feelings on Paul's abandonment, now Gerard's abandonment, the drugs' abandonment – He didn't get high for fun, he got high to keep himself grounded, to guide him through a world that moved too fast past him. He got high to keep his head afloat when he accepted the world was always going to rotate at light-speed around him, to distract him from the fact that he was drowning, that there was no one waiting up for him, to hold his hand through it, not even Gerard. Was Gerard going to die? Why had no one told him what was going on yet? His thoughts raced, he wanted to get high. </p><p> </p><p>He felt his vision blur out and didn't even realize he was hyperventilating until he felt an abrupt blow to his face. He heard his own voice yelp as he clutched at the sting on his cheek, now aware that he had also been crying. He looked up to his mother who stared at him with her hands clasped on the table. “Frank, please understand that these rules are meant as less of a punishment, and mainly precautions to keep you safe”, she said with sad eyes. He could hear her voice tighten, and knew it was only a matter of time until she was crying too, knew it was only a matter of time before Dave was calling him a pussy and attempting to knock sense into him with his fists. But instead, a painful silence followed, only to be broken by the sound of Dave's chair squeaking against the wooden floor as he sat back down next to his mother. “I can bring you over to Steve's when I stop by so you can still see Robert. Plus, Steve has a better understanding of what you're dealin' with than we do, knows people who have been through it”, Dave spoke up. It was the first time his step-father ever tried to speak to him in a reassuring manner. His eyes widened, not entirely sure how to respond, so he kept his mouth shut. “And Michael, as well as Gerard's parents have the number to our landline. They'll be in touch”, his mother added, reaching forward to grab his hand. Instinctively, Frank recoiled from the touch, “What happened?” His mother looked down and shook her head softly before repeating, “They'll be in touch.”</p><p> </p><p>←⚞❋⚟→</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>So now it had been two days. Two dreadfully long days, with little to no human interaction outside of his mother's reminders to eat when he refused to come downstairs for dinner. Were they really going to jump back into eating meals together? Had Frank's potential overdose shook the household into <i>that</i> much disarray that his mother was resorting to regimens they hadn't followed in years? He had no appetite, his anxiety had surely been eating away the lining of his stomach and there was surely no conversation he could even grasp initiating in if forced to sit across from the two of them at the table. Why hadn't Mikey called? Why was he somehow surprised that the world was still turning without him, that he wasn't worth anyone's time to make a quick phone call, a ten minute attempt to bring him up to speed on the person that meant the world to him? He owed Gerard so much and all he received was radio silence outside of his mother's reminders to eat and bathe. He kicked himself for not memorizing Gerard's number, but especially for not memorizing Justin's number. When he was at Gerard's he had repeatedly tried to remember it each time his body broke out into a cold sweat, scanned through his memories obsessively and only coming up with the area-code as he violently spewed the contents of his stomach into the cold porcelain bowl.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey kid, get up and shower”, Dave's voice boomed through his thoughts, but he refused to even look towards the doorway. “Look, your mother might take it, but I sure as hell ain't dealing with this ignoring shit. Get your ass up and in that shower!”, Dave said, voice raised. Frank sighed heavily and glanced over at Dave, who was fuming with fists clenched at his sides. Frank didn't know what compelled him, but he almost <i>wanted</i> to provoke Dave – he knew his charade wouldn't have lasted long, and his mother was at work today. Frank knew it was only a matter of time until Dave snapped, knew the house would erupt in muffled bickering through the hallways the second his mother saw a split lip or bruise on his face. He didn't know why, but he <i>wanted</i> chaos to ensue; He wanted everyone to hurt the way he hurt, wanted everyone to be forcefully torn from what they yearned for, the way he was forced to stay sober, the way he was forced to sit in solitude in his bedroom. He couldn't even try to stop himself before the laughter fell from his mouth, dripping with malice. And that was all the provocation his step-father needed to charge towards the bed and grab the back of Frank's shirt. Frank choked at the shock of being pulled off his bed, and hissed as his tailbone hit the carpet of his bedroom floor. Dave dragged him, literally, out of his bedroom and down the hallway to the bathroom. Frank clutched erratically at his throat in attempt to relieve the pressure of his shirt's collar against his windpipe. Dave dropped him on the bathroom floor, and as Frank coughed, trying to catch his breath, Dave's hands were at his shoulders, dragging him over the tub's ledge and dropping him in before turning the shower on. <i>”What the fuck!?”</i>, Frank shrieked, blinking through the beads of water against his face. “I tried playing nice, kid, I tried! But if you're not even gonna meet me halfway, don't expect shit from my end. Now take a goddamned shower and get dressed. We're going next door in half an hour since you need a fucking babysitter!”, Dave yelled before tossing a towel at the floor outside the tub and slamming the bathroom door shut on his way out. Frank tried to take his wet clothes off and toss them into the sink as fast as he could before turning up the water's temperature. He expected more of a reaction from Dave, but knew he wasn't stupid; he was avoiding anything that would make his mother more upset than she had been. But if Frank knew anything about his step-father, it was that his front would falter. The same way his new job would end, the way his closeness with his mother would grow distant again, the way the liquor would seep from his pores again. Frank washed his body quickly, before hurrying to his room, avoiding his reflection in the bathroom mirror on his way out. Frank quickly threw on a pair of black jeans, a t-shirt and an oversized hoodie, before it hit him – going next door meant at least he could smoke with Bert, and convince Bert to reach out to Gerard. He suddenly couldn't wait to hear his step-father's voice, yelling up the staircase for him to come down and put his shoes on.</p><p> </p><p>The two were greeted by Stephen at the front door after knocking. Stephen smiled brightly at Frank and welcomed them into the house. He directed Dave to make himself comfortable and grab a beer from the fridge before turning to Frank. “So, how have you been feeling?”, Stephen smiled warmly. Frank's gaze immediately redirected to the floor, hoping everyone who had any idea of his business wasn't going to start every conversation asking how he was doing. He knew it was the polite way of asking <i>'are you itching for drugs yet, you fiend?'</i> Frank sighed, “I'm alright, thanks for asking.” Stephen looked at him with pity, “You know, I know what you're going through. I'm sure you're having the same conversation with everyone...”, he leaned in closer, voice almost a whisper, “Don't tell Robert I told you this, it'll bring up too many bad memories. But his father – my brother, dealt with the same.. habit.” Frank's eyes met his in surprise. Bert had never mentioned his father doing drugs, but maybe he was just unsure of it, losing him at such a young age. Stephen smiled again, “I know how hard it is, and I want to let you know I'm proud of you.” Frank couldn't believe the words he was hearing. He couldn't remember the last time someone told him they were proud of him, let alone for just existing through a forced detox. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here to listen. Let it be known this house is a safe space”, he patted Frank's shoulder before heading towards the kitchen. “Oh and Robert's upstairs in his room”, he added before disappearing into the kitchen. He heard two drinks clank together and figured this was his cue to head upstairs to Bert's room. He shook his head to himself, still not understanding how Stephen could be such a saint while his step-father was such a piece of shit, and wondered how true Stephen's offer was.</p><p> </p><p>Frank knocked on Bert's door, only for the door to swing open and immediately be greeted by a long hug. “Uh, hi”, Frank struggled to say, face muffled into Bert's hair and neck. Bert released him and pulled him gently to sit on the bed next to him, “Dude! What the fuck is going on, fill me in!”, he exclaimed with wide eyes. Bert and Frank were friends, but even Bert knew Frank would immediately shut down if asked to speak about anything personal. Which is exactly why both boys were shocked when Frank took a deep breath and held it, eyes clenched tightly for a moment. Bert extended a hand to the smaller framed boy who was holding himself as if he were trying to disappear, “Frank, you don't have to talk about it. But it'll probably be easier if you do. You know your parents and my uncle talk.” Frank exhaled the breath he was holding and remembered what he truly needed, “You got any bud?” Bert tilted his head to the side and stared at Frank as if he had spoken another language, “Really?” Frank sighed and looked around the bedroom, “Dude I'm crawling in my fucking skin. I need something to take the edge off, you have no idea.” The idea of Frank wanting to get high shouldn't have came as a surprise to Bert, but it did when he really looked over Frank's appearance; this had been the best he'd looked since Bert had moved here. The boy was still clearly underweight, nearly drowning in his own hooded sweatshirt, but the newfound olive complexion in his skin helped him stray from looking like a distorted Tim Burton character. “I'm dry man, my uncle wiped my room clean. But to be completely honest, I still probably wouldn't smoke with you..You should try and stay clean”, Bert said gently, searching Frank's face as if to gauge whether he had crossed a line or not. Frank scoffed and shook his head, “This whole situation is a fuckin' shit-show. I'm not a criminal.” Bert reached forward, placing a reassuring hand on Frank's knee, “I'm not saying you're a criminal, and even if you were – you're my friend. I only want what's best for you.. What's Gerard think about all this?”</p><p> </p><p>Frank cringed at the name, holding another deep breath and shook his head quickly. He didn't care how little time he had spent sober in the grand scheme of things; if he had his phone, had benzo's or opiates in his system, he'd be able to breathe through this conversation. He had no fucking clue how to handle the emotions that coursed through him sober, he felt absolutely out of control, completely unbound; as if he opened his mouth he'd go flying through the room like a tornado, unhinged. “Hey, hey now... Frankie”, Bert said softly, trying to steer the boy from the obvious war waging inside his mind. Frank exhaled, opened his eyes and knew he was completely and utterly fucked. The tears streamed down his face before he could even process them and he lunged forward grabbing onto Bert as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart at the seams. Bert tried to wrap his arms around him, the awkward distance between them left Frank's head practically in his lap. He shushed him in a whispered tone, ran his hand over the boy's tangled brown locks, and patiently waited for him to calm himself down. His back shook under Bert's touch as he released muffled sobs and choked breaths. As he eventually relaxed the best he could, he sat up in a ball, arms wrapped around his shins, head pressed against his knees and told Bert as much as he could about his stay at Gerard's.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>To say Bert felt uneasy when Frank left several hours would be an understatement. If he didn't know Frank, he would've thought he stayed at the Ways' home for a month, so much had happened in the span of a week. Bert sympathized with Frank, but tried to keep his responses gentle and neutral. Frank had never openly offered any personal information about his life, he was closed off and shy, and had made it inherently clear that he hated being pitied. But most importantly, Bert was beginning to realize his prior assumptions about Frank were most likely entirely wrong; as he listened to the boy speak, it didn't seem like he was putting Gerard on this pedestal Bert had imagined, if anything it seemed like Frank was incredibly lonely. While Bert himself was absolutely concerned for Gerard's well-being, it didn't affect him the way it seemed to make Frank crumble. Bert knew Gerard was probably getting the best care he could for whatever freak accident occurred in his bathroom, knew that he would return eventually and knew that if something catastrophic happened to him, he'd have Frank to talk to, or even Jeph, his only remaining friend from his previous school, or maybe even some acquaintances from his new school; bottom line is he knew he wouldn't be alone. But Frank – Frank's thought process seemed to bounce back and forth between the the self-doubt that he could move forward without drugs, and the hopelessness that he couldn't even seem to fathom; moving forward without Gerard. Bert had no clue how codependent he was on Gerard, it was as if no one else in the world mattered, but he also put two and two together to realize that Frank was also sober for the longest he had been in two years, his emotions were at an all-time high and he was searching desperately for a comfort he found in his friend.</p><p> </p><p>←⚞❋⚟→</p><p> </p><p>Several mornings later, Frank was woken up by a familiar voice calling his name. He rubbed his face haphazardly and squinted to be met by Mikey, sitting down at his desk. “Sorry to wake you, your mom told me to just head upstairs”, he practically whispered. Frank sat up and noticed Mikey was in much better condition than he had been a few days prior. His lips were pressed into a thin straight line, no sign of tears, no splotchy red face. Before Frank could open his mouth, Mikey cut him off, reading his mind, “Gerard is okay. But he'll be away for a while, depending on how well he does.” Frank raised his brows, silently pressing the younger of the two to explain further. “There's some things you need to know about Gerard.. They're not my business to tell you, but at this point I think you've both met your match as far as issues go.” Frank wanted to make a snide comment, anything to distract him from the tension of the unknown looming in the air, to stop his stomach from doing somersaults, but the words escaped him. “Did Gerard tell you he stopped taking his medication?”, Mikey asked, and that's when Frank could hear how hard Mikey's voice was straining, the clearer he tried to emphasize his words, the more hoarse he sounded. Frank shook his head, “He never mentioned medication. Is he sick?” Mikey sighed heavily, refusing to look Frank in the eyes, instead staring at his feet that anxiously stepped on one another in place. “Gerard's head can be a very dark place... He takes medication – well, he's supposed to take medication that helps him, well... function. He went off his meds again without telling anyone and hurt himself pretty badly. They stitched him up, but he's going to be in Psych until they don't think he's a risk to himself. And if he starts taking his meds again.”</p><p> </p><p>Frank knew this wasn't the time to make things about himself, but he felt the guilt building in his chest. If he hadn't had Gerard taking care of him and practically babying him for most of the week, he probably would've noticed a switch in Gerard's behavior. If he hadn't pushed Gerard to his goddamned breaking point, he could've avoided this altogether, he could've helped Gerard the way he had helped him. This whole time he was under the impression that maybe Gerard slipped and fell, despite never hearing a thud or glass shatter. Or maybe that was easier than believing that Gerard's world had closed in on itself and his only relief would be bleeding out on his bathroom floor. And that's when it clicked: Bleeding; Gerard brought a razorblade to school. Frank never brought it up again. The sudden drops in Gerard's mood the last few weeks. Frank brushed them off, got high in the bathroom. The wasted water of the shower and Gerard returning with dry hair. Frank looked the other way, ignored it to get high. “I'm really fucking sorry”, he mumbled, trying to will away the tears before they came, eyes already burning. “Frank, it's not your fault”, Mikey reassured, looking up at Frank confused. Frank ran his hands over his thighs anxiously and rambled quick and almost aimlessly; explained the razor in Gerard's pocket and the odd behavior he brushed off for weeks. He looked up, expecting Mikey to curse him out, spit at him, yell at him for being too selfish to speak sooner. But he never did. “Frank, this isn't the first time this has happened. I knew he was off his meds, I didn't tell my parents because he didn't seem as bad as last time”, he frowned, wiping his hands at his face. Frank was already overwhelmed and at a total loss. He was well-aware of mental health issues, they'd spent three months talking about them in Health Class his freshman year. But it was completely different in real life than in the class-text book examples. “Last time?”, he stammered. It was clear that Mikey was struggling to get the words out, taking deep breaths between sentences as he explained to Frank why they had moved here in the first place: Gerard went off his meds, Gerard started acting up at school, Gerard cut himself intentionally and regularly, Gerard swallowed a month's supply of antidepressants and chased it down with cheap liquor. <i>Mikey</i> found him. Gerard spent a month in the hospital. Their parents sold the house and moved to a new school district to give Gerard a new start. It didn't work.</p><p> </p><p>There was no denying how hard it all was on Mikey, he wrongfully blamed himself and held too much weight on his shoulders, trying to hold the brunt of the force so Gerard could stand a little lighter. Mikey still managed to regain his composure, but Frank had learned it was all a facade; acted like nothing got to him so no one would focus on him, he wanted the focus to be on his brother so when things began to unravel, everyone would be able to give their full support to building his brother back up. Frank never had siblings, but hoped if he did, he'd be as protective as Mikey. But he knew it wasn't fair, and knew it would break Gerard to know what Mikey was doing for him. A sixteen year old should never play the part of the martyr. He left with a nod and promise of updates on Gerard's return, and somehow successfully managed to dodge answering all of Frank's questions regarding directly contacting the eldest brother himself.</p><p> </p><p>Frank felt as if the weight in his chest was about to implode. He couldn't be alone with his thoughts. He impulsively chose his only option for escaping the four walls of his bedroom. He begged his mother for fifteen minutes to let him go next door, only to have her agree after demanding she watch him knock and enter the household. His mother thought fondly of the neighbors and clearly decided Frank finding solace there was the best thing for him and his sobriety. He knocked loud and fast in a panic as the thoughts and images flew through his mind. He realized Stephen was probably at work with Dave and wasn't even sure if Bert was allowed to have unsupervised visits. He waited for several moments as his palms began to sweat, glancing to the left at his own front yard where his mother stood, hand on her hip. As he turned his body to face her, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hey Frank, what's going on?”, Steve asked coolly, glancing over at Linda and gesturing a small wave. Her eyes lit up as he nodded at her and she returned into the house. Frank looked at Stephen, with a dry knot forming in his throat. “I think I need to talk to someone”, Frank mumbled before the neighbor guided him inside.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am most definitely a broken record at this point, but there will be many ups and downs! I seriously love all kudos/comments/feedback, it’s the only thing pushing me forward, and I have MUCH more planned for this!</p><p> </p><p>I am also debating on new unrelated fics/prompts and accepting requests :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I will add the tags for this chapter, but I must emphasize the trigger warning for this chapter in regards to violence/non-con, so please read with caution.</p><p>Also, I'm very sorry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A week and a half had passed since Gerard's hospitalization had come and passed, and Frank had still heard nothing from Mikey since his unannounced visit. Frank was still under constant supervision at home, but felt more leniency as Dave picked up extra hours at work and his mother spent more time at home, lending an ear to listen to Frank explain the vaguest version of what was happening with Gerard. Frank was allowed to go to and from his neighbor's house without being watched like a hawk; presumably because he'd notice how Bert's uncle would send a quick text every time he arrived, and his mother would always receive a text within seconds of him getting home. Frank's heart broke at the thought of Gerard spending Christmas in the hospital, and found himself writing letters he'd never get to send as he drifted off to sleep each night. He couldn't deny the underlying guilt that grew inside him as every passing day seemed to get a little easier to breathe.</p><p> </p><p>He was growing familiar with the McCracken household, his seemingly new support network. Bert was more than supportive of Frank's sobriety, his eyes beaming as they'd started spending much more time together and Frank had rekindled his past love of guitar. On days when Bert was focused on extra-credit assignments, sleeping or not feeling up to company, Frank found himself confiding in his friend's uncle. Stephen was patient, unbiased and knowledgeable; he had even managed to convince Frank to attend Narcotics Anonymous meetings with him every other day. Frank surprised himself when he had first agreed to go; a bundle of nerves swearing he'd be uncomfortable. He still refused to stand up and share, but after the first few meetings had agreed to stand up and mutter, “Hi, my name is Frank and I'm an addict.” The experiences were overbearing at first, but he found comfort there, and knowing he had Stephen's support made it that much easier. Despite his demons whispering in his ear that things would be much easier if he just found a way to get high, he pushed forward. He hadn't found it necessary to find a sponsor and Stephen agreed, he still felt like he was somehow making progress in his sobriety. In the back of his mind, he knew this could all come to a crashing halt the second he returned to school and was given back the apparent privilege of his cell-phone, but he was trying his hardest to focus on the present; <i>”One day at a time</i>”, as he was reminded during his meetings. He had missed Gerard terribly, but found comfort in the new routine he desperately tried adjusting to. He was genuinely beginning to believe he could hold up his then-empty promises to his mother and Gerard. </p><p> </p><p>His mother was beyond impressed with the drastic change in his behavior. He was starting conversations at the dinner table. He kept his face straight when Dave smelled like booze, trying to maintain a new semi-optimistic mentality. He knew to avoid provoking Dave, talking back to Dave, sat submissively as Dave snarled at him in the hallways of their home. He turned his head the other way when Dave doubted his sobriety, swore and spat in his face that he saw through him. Frank cried silently when he came home to a disheveled room, victim to his step-father's frequently unannounced bedroom searches. But he forced himself to wake up each day, pretending the slate had been wiped clean. He stared at the ground when Dave shoved him forcefully in passing in the hallway, pretended not to hear it when he called Frank a<i> pussy, a coward, a goddamned junkie</i>.</p><p> </p><p>←⚞❋⚟→</p><p> </p><p>For once, Bert woke up without the assistance of his alarm or his uncle's yelling through the open doorway. Things had been going extraordinarily well, and Bert could've sworn this was the happiest he had been in over a decade. Since Frank's return from his stay at Gerard's, he had been spending most of his time at Bert's house. It was somehow much easier to focus on his extra-credit assignments he'd been lucky enough to be given over holiday break to adjust his grade from his last school, when he was on somewhat of a schedule. The time slots he dedicated to his schoolwork, Frank would still stop by. But was becoming much more understanding of Bert's focus, and it had helped so much that his uncle was willing to help guide Frank in the right direction as well. Before the truth had come out about Frank's addiction, Bert had suspicions about what truly went on in his neighbor's house behind closed doors, and they were silently proven true the more time he spent with the short boy next door. Bert knew everyone thought he was an airhead, knew most people perceived him as an attention-deficit stoner; but if anything, it helped his intuition on the reality behind each face that smiled at him with rolled eyes. One of the first things Bert had noticed the first day Frank had been brought to his home, a week after moving in, was the tight grip on Frank's shoulder by his step-father, as well as the grimace across Frank's face. Bert couldn't turn a blind eye to the several split lips Frank fashioned, and especially couldn't turn the other cheek when Frank had showed up only to nod in and out, guitar in hand with a yellowing black eye. Bert knew it wasn't a coincidence that he hadn't seen Frank walk to school in the morning the same week. He had tried to nonchalantly mention the occasional bruising on Frank's face and neck, the subtle limps or winces Frank made when his back pressed against the wall while sitting on Bert's bed. But it always ended the same: Frank would shut down, face would go pale, eyes wide, and he'd make any attempt to change the subject as if Bert hadn't said a thing. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bert may have stopped subtly interrogating Frank directly about the blatant abuse, but he only had to mention it twice to his uncle before he was sat down for a long conversation. The second his uncle had mentioned getting the man next door a job, Bert had to bring up the suspected abuse again. And that is when Uncle Steve had explained to his nephew that he was aware Dave had been an alcoholic in denial; that of course he wanted to make nice with the neighbors, but that he also had plans of steering the man onto the right track. It wasn't unusual of his uncle to do so; as estranged as his relationship with his uncle had been, he had been a major factor in why Bert had cared so much about different causes. It was strange in a way, how his uncle was constantly hot and cold with him during their shared time together, but how they always got along best when Bert shared interest in the charities and organizations his uncle invested in; As a matter of fact, if it weren't for his uncle's repeated donations to the Trevor Project, Bert probably would've never felt so comfortable bringing his first boyfriend home from his last school. No matter how many ups and downs their relationship might have had, Bert always knew one solid fact about his uncle: He cared for the people as a whole, and always went above and beyond to contribute what he could to helping better the people around him, especially those in need of guidance.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bert knew it was no coincidence that once the neighbor started working with his uncle, the visible bruises on Frank's body diminished. Noticing that, Bert tried to will his nerves away even though he knew Frank was blatantly struggling with something else; something he felt was too personal to let his uncle onto. He suspected drugs but also suspected it could've been something like insomnia, as Frank frequently blamed his onset sleepiness as a poor night's rest, time and time again; his appearance not screaming out <i>'lies'</i>. Bert wanted to reach out to his uncle about Frank's strange behavior that eventually introduced itself as drugs, but figured this was something friends handle head-on with each other first, Bert wanted to be the person his uncle was for strangers, to Frank. He knew how closed off his neighbor was and wanted to approach it at his own pace.. And harbored so much guilt the second he heard of Frank's alleged overdose. So as the two and a half weeks progressed since the initial incident, Bert felt the weight on his conscience lighten. Frank was showing up regularly, a light in his eyes and blush on his face Bert had never witnessed before. He knew Frank was better – coming alive. He was opening up more each visit; nothing deeply personal, but anything he told Bert about his own life had seemed like a dream – Bert couldn't believe the shy neighbor kid was finally saying <i>anything</i> about his life. He was finally allowing Bert to put together pieces of him to nearly form a whole; he was now talking about how distant he felt from the world around him, he was talking about how he resented his father, talking about (though not giving any details) how he hated Paul at school and that they were once best friends. All that mattered to Bert was that he was talking. And it brought him so much relief knowing that when he was busy, his friend next door was finally opening up to the idea of, and attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings, chaperoned by his uncle. With every step of progress, every meeting they left for brought Bert clarity that his new closest friend had finally been acknowledging he was an addict, and assuming from willingly attending meetings; it meant he <i>wanted</i> to stay clean. Looking back on the second day back from Gerard's house to now, Bert smiled knowing how far Frank had come. He couldn't wait to see how much more progress Frank would make when Gerard returned. Of course he felt they were close friends, but he knew deep down Frank needed the comfort of knowing Gerard was okay, to move faster in his recovery. </p><p> </p><p>But for the present, Bert tried to keep his head clear as he helped his uncle set up the house for his uncle's infamous New Year's Eve party. Every year, for as long as he could remember, his uncle hosted company holiday parties, but as his uncle had said, “The office knows Steve for New Year's Eve.” Bert was allowed to have his friends over in his room, but knew he was not allowed to go out, “for safety reasons” as his uncle explained. Bert never argued, knew how horrible drunk drivers were: they were the reason behind his constant questioning as a child, the reason for the night terrors that haunted his pre-teens, the reason why his parents hadn't returned home to him on the night of their anniversary.</p><p> </p><p>About thirty to forty attendees were expected from the office alone, so Bert spent a majority of his day making sure everything would go according to plan; hanging up decorations and insuring there were enough glasses, as well as enough gag decorations like New Year's sunglasses and necklaces and liquor bottles at the assigned stations. He had phoned Jepha, his closest friend from his last school, but he wasn't able to attend, and it left a sour taste in Bert's mouth. He would never admit it, but it upset him, and already off-put his mood for the day; Jepha had been his best friend since the third grade and always slept over Bert's during his uncle's company parties if they fell on holiday breaks from school or weekends. He pushed past the insecurities that flooded his mind and proceeded getting everything prepared. Frank would be coming over, and that was enough for him to not lose his mind in the solitude of his room while the attendees ran rampant throughout the house.</p><p> </p><p>←⚞❋⚟→</p><p> </p><p>Frank had anxiety about the New Year's Eve party at his neighbor's house; since his newfound sobriety, it had been the largest crowd of people he'd been around and although he knew no one was looking at him directly, making his way through the crowd of adults invited his social anxiety back into his mind as he made his way back to Bert's bedroom from the bathroom down the hall. Bert and Frank had taken advantage of the loud party, finally an opportunity to turn their amps up and play their previously written riffs at full volume without Steve's complaints. At this point in the night, it had felt as if they'd been playing for hours and he was tired. It was a new feeling for him to fully engulf himself in his music; along with the insecurities of sweating in clothes that actually clung to his body. It might have only been two and a half weeks since he last used, but he was already gaining weight rapidly. He was nowhere near chubby, and had never been insecure about his weight at any point in his life, but it felt <i>weird</i>. It felt weird to wear a thin long sleeved shirt that touched his skin no matter which way he moved, it felt weird to walk around in jeans that fit his legs properly. </p><p> </p><p>As he heard the countdown followed by screams and chants of <i>“Happy New Year!”</i>'s downstairs, he cringed at the thought of how drunk Dave had probably gotten tonight. Frank was already battling a migraine and didn't want to go home. He didn't want to help his mother drag his step-father back home and especially didn't want to lay in bed alone. Whether people acknowledged it or not, New Years always felt like a couples' holiday. In the back of his mind, it drove him wild to even humor the idea of him being able to kiss Gerard when the ball dropped. He missed his best friend, wanted to know how he was doing and wished his mother would let him use the landline to call Mikey. But after constant whining and begging, he knew his mother wouldn't allow him to harass the younger Way brother for updates on Gerard. The past two weeks had taught him to focus on his sobriety, and living in the now, but he couldn't help but still wonder how this night would've gone if Gerard were by his side. He couldn't help but wonder how the frequently bitten lips would've felt against his own as they silently wished themselves a good year together. His stomach sank at the thought of Gerard spending New Year's in a hospital, alone with blinding luminescent overhead bulbs and the sterile smell of the linoleum floors that made your nose crunch up in disgust. He thought to how cute Gerard's nose looked when it scrunched up before he laughed. </p><p> </p><p>He was broken from his thoughts as Steve opened the door, slight stumble in his step. Frank glanced to Bert for a second, who was clearly falling asleep, fully dressed and sprawled across his bed. He pointed a curled finger, motioning for Frank to approach him in the doorway of Bert's room. “Hey Frank,your step-father's real drunk downstairs and about to leave with your mother”, he said in a hushed tone to the boy. Frank nodded, knowing it had been about an hour since the ball had dropped, and knowing the time to drag Dave home had been approaching dreadfully. As he moved to step forward, Steve pressed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Frank – Dave is very drunk. I spoke to your mother and she approved of you spending the night in our guest room, if you'd like”, Steve smiled. Frank looked up with hopeful, questioning eyes. Steve simply nodded before snapping his fingers to wake Bert from his trance.  “Robert, do you have pajamas you can lend to Frank for the night?” Bert's head shot upwards with wide eyes as he was startled while dozing off. “Yeah, of course”, Bert yawned before standing up and heading towards his dresser. Frank could relate to Bert's exhaustion; from his understanding Bert had woken up ridiculously early for a teen on holiday break, but Frank had also been waking up fairly early, in attempt to force his body into a healthy routine. “Thank you”, Frank mouthed to Steve before turning his gaze to Bert who was pulling out a white t-shirt and pair of grey sweatpants for Frank to sleep in. Frank accepted happily before stepping out of the room, allowing his friend's uncle to turn off the lights and close the door behind them. He pointed to a door down the hall, next to the bathroom, before smiling softly and heading back downstairs to bid his guests a safe trip home. “Holler if you need anything, Frankie”, he said with a smile before turning around. “Actually, do you have Advil or Tylenol or something? I've got a killer migraine”, Frank asked. His head was throbbing, a combination from how loud the house had been all night in addition to his racing thoughts. “Yeah, gimme a minute”, Steve smiled. He walked down the hall to the bathroom and returned a minute later with four small blue tablets, “They're such a low dose, I always have to take four for migraines. Good night.” He handed them to Frank before heading downstairs. Frank was grateful that for the first time, he was taking a normal over-the-counter pain-reliever as opposed to craving dope for minor aches and pains. Maybe he really was making progress, maybe he could handle walking back through the halls of his school with a clear mind after all when holiday break ended. Maybe he really <i>could</i> fucking do this, and for the first time, he wasn't afraid of pushing himself through it. He was stronger than the person he was a few weeks ago. </p><p> </p><p>Frank made a mental note to himself to thank his mother tomorrow morning. She had to have known Frank would feel much safer in the McCracken household than his own. This was the first time in years his mother and step-father were attending events together, but Frank still hated most holidays that had a heavy influence on drinking. He thinks back to the last New Year's Eve when Dave had drank excessively while his mother slept early after working a double-shift that afternoon. Frank can't remember the details of what provoked the altercation, but he'll never forget the dislocated shoulder Dave had given him. He regretted lying to the doctor in the Urgent Care office the next morning, claiming that he was injured playing sports with his friends; and how it somehow hurt more when his mother glanced up, wide eyed and surprised at his blatant lie, but didn't comment on it more than when the doctor had to pop his shoulder back into place. He remembers the week leading back up to school in a daze after he was sent home from the doctor's office with a sling and Vicodin prescription meant to last three weeks; he'd railed it in less than two. He clenched his fist and shook his head from the bitter memories, remembering he wouldn't have to deal with Dave at all tonight, and made his way down the hall to the room he'd be staying in for the night.</p><p> </p><p>Frank was shocked when he opened the door to the guest room; it was a medium sized room with a large vanity dresser against the right wall, across from a queen-sized bed, fully made in a fashion that reminded Frank of a hotel. A small television was mounted to the wall in the far right corner angled across from the bed. Frank was looking forward to getting a very well-rested sleep tonight, hoping the new location would distract is mind from thoughts and wonders surrounding Gerard. Frank stood up and changed, Bert's clothes fit comfortably, slightly large, but it brought a strange comfort the way the clothes fit his body much more to what he was used to. He turned on the television to a moderate volume as he pushed his body under the tightly tucked blankets of the guestroom bed. In the distance, he could hear more and more party attendees sharing faint Goodbyes's and <i>Thank you for having me</i>'s, as he laid in bed and drifted off to sleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>←⚞❋⚟→</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Frank stirred as he felt the mattress shift beside him and knew it was his annoying hyperactive friend. “I'm sleeping”, he mumbled, eyes clenched tight. It was no secret that Bert had no concept of personal space, always sat as close as he could to someone, even when Frank had invited him to Gerard's several times in the past.  He meant no harm in it, and clearly no one had confronted him about it previously. He felt his friend shift to get under the comforter and press his body against Frank's spooning him. Frank thought it was odd, not having slept like this since before he detoxed at Gerard's, but was far too groggy to complain. He would have a conversation with his friend about boundaries in the morning before he left: he'd been told in his NA (Narcotics Anonymous) meetings that it was important to enforce boundaries and he felt comfortable enough with Bert and knew Bert was respectable enough to understand and comply when Frank brought it up. Frank felt himself drifting off to sleep again, ignoring the hand wrapped around his waist until he felt hot breath on the back of his neck. He tapped his fingers against the arm wrapped around him and whispered, “Bert, cut it out.” He felt his friend's lips press against the space where his neck met his shoulder. They were soft and warm and found their way up below his earlobe. His breath hitched and tried to will his body not to react to the intimate touches, as his friend's hand crept lower to the front of his sweatpants. “W-w-we can't”, Frank stammered, voice barely audible. Frank couldn't deny the touches felt good, but he was overcome with shock. This whole time, he had been convinced Bert was attracted to Gerard. He secretly viewed him as competition in a game he didn't know he was playing. Bert had never openly mentioned finding Gerard attractive, but Frank always noticed the way Bert stole quick glances when Gerard wasn't looking, or specifically when he was bending over. Why was Bert doing this now? They'd spent nearly everyday together for a week, they spent all afternoon and night together, so why now? Frank hadn't had sex with anyone since he was still friends with Paul; sex was the <i>last</i> thing on his mind. </p><p> </p><p>He was shook from his internal conflict as the hands behind him roughly pulled his sweatpants down. Frank gasped as his hips were pressed down, positioning his body from on it's side to flat on his stomach. “Bert, stop, I'm not doing this”, Frank choked out in a panic as he felt the fingers press deeper in his hips. The response was whispered and Frank jolted as he heard, “I'm not Robert.” He writhed and twisted as his arms were pulled behind his back in a tight grip and Stephen leaned forward, “What's the matter? You just wanted it a minute ago.” Frank could tell by his tone that he was smirking, and Frank could've sworn he felt his heart in his throat. “What are you doing?”, Frank exclaimed as he felt fabric pressed against his wrists. “Since you don't wanna play nice all of a sudden, neither will I”, Stephen purred into his ear. Frank could feel the hair on his neck stand up, this couldn't be happening.. there was no possible way this was happening, right? The second he felt the fabric knotted tightly against his wrists, he pulled at them frantically before he was forcefully flipped onto his back. His knuckles pressed into his spine under the weight of his body, and in this moment he would've easily preferred to have relived last year's holiday with a dislocated shoulder than whatever the fuck was happening now. He looked down at his body, naked below the waist and felt exposed and vulnerable. He looked up at Stephen's eyes, immediately darkened and looking down at him through his lashes. “W-W-Why-”, Frank stuttered and his voice cracked, unable to finish the question that hung heavy in the air. Stephen scoffed to himself and reached down with a firm grip around Frank's member. Frank gasped at the contact and choked back a small moan; he cursed his body for betraying him against the unwanted touches. Stephen stroked him several times and ran his other hand up the inside of Frank's thigh. Frank's body jerked, arching his back off the bed and he whimpered. He felt sick that his body gave into the touch but his brain screamed <i>no</i>. “S-S-Stop or I'll scream”, Frank hissed, trying to sit up. Stephen's hand shoved him down aggressively and growled, “Open your mouth and I'll fucking stuff it, boy.” Frank wasn't a violent person but knew if his wrists were not bound in this moment he would do anything to punch the man in the face. Frank looked up at Stephen and spit directly in his face. Stephen quickly wiped the spit off of his face and smiled as his hand gripped Frank's windpipe. “You're gonna regret that”, he laughed as Frank's eyes went wide, struggling for air. Out of instinct, he wanted to claw at the hand around his throat, but ended up slightly rocking from side to side. He looked up at the ceiling and saw the borders of his vision start to blur, and in this moment he wasn't sure if he'd rather pass out or fight it. He wished he was at home repeatedly in his head. He wanted to pass out.</p><p> </p><p>He tried to stop struggling against Stephen's hand, knowing he'd much rather be unconscious for whatever his body was about to endure. And just as the blurring edges of the ceiling grew, his throat was released and he clenched his eyes shut as he gasped and choked. When he opened his eyes, Stephen's hand held his cheeks firmly, keeping his lips parted. He shook Frank's head back and forth, before spitting into his mouth and shoving a piece of fabric into it, that felt like a washcloth. Frank gagged and thought for a second he was going to throw up, but was completely thrown off guard when he felt a cold, wet finger pressed against his entrance. He screamed into the cloth-gag as he felt thick fingers aggressively enter and exit his body repeatedly. He tried to pull his legs up and use them to push Stephen away but was met with hard slaps across the insides of his thighs as his legs were pried apart. He screamed louder than he ever had before into the makeshift gag as Stephen lined himself up and violently thrust into him. Frank felt his own fingernails dig crescent shaped indents into his palms as he clenched his fists beneath him, and his jaw ached from how tight it clenched down against the cloth. He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head back and forth as if to will away the fact that the man he had grown to trust and admire the past few weeks was violating his body. His throat felt raw when he began to scream again to block out the sounds of Stephen's grunting as his thrusts shoved Frank's body deeper into the mattress. Frank could feel himself bleeding and found himself mentally asking a God he wasn't sure he believed in why this was happening to him. He felt as if he were being torn apart and didn't think he could stomach it much longer. He'd felt as if he'd lost his fight completely the second he felt Stephen reposition his legs and felt his mind disconnect from his body. He couldn't tell how much time had passed, but it felt like an eternity before he felt Stephen pull out and straddled his chest. “Look at me”, Stephen groaned but Frank kept his eyes clenched shut. He felt a sharp sting across his face as the man slapped him before grabbing a fistful of the teen's hair and repeated, “Fucking look at me.” The teen winced as he looked up, flinching as the man released onto his face. </p><p> </p><p>He felt the washcloth get pulled from his mouth before his body was shoved onto his stomach, wrists unbound. He just laid there in silence before he was pushed onto his back again. He kept his eyes closed and said nothing. “You might wanna get up and take a shower”, Stephen said softly. Frank's eyes glanced up in the man's direction, confused. “Aren't you afraid I'll tell someone?”, Frank asked softly. He was still in shock, his fight or flight response failed him, but it threw him off guard that the man who just violently assaulted him was so nonchalant afterward. Stephen scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Oh, you're not  going to tell anyone.” Frank looked up with questioning eyes as he struggled to sit up, whimpering at the pain radiating through his body. “Because if you tell anyone, you'll be drug tested and sent away”, Stephen said coldly, tossing the sweatpants Frank was previously wearing back at him. “I'm clean”, he rasped out in response. He reached up to rub his eyes that were now beginning to burn excruciatingly when he realized he still had semen all over his face and frowned. “That's not what the four Percocets in your system will say”, Stephen spat and Frank's eyes went wide. “Go clean yourself up,” Stephen repeated before leaving the room. </p><p> </p><p>Frank grabbed the grey sweatpants he had been given earlier and peaked out of the doorway. The house was pitch black, all bedroom doors across the landing were closed, so he limped towards the bathroom next to the guest room. He refused to look at himself in the mirror, he knew there were still remnants of Stephen on his face, he could feel it drying. He struggled to take his shirt off, winced as his shoulders flexed after spending however long with his arms bound beneath him. He stepped into the tub and turned on the shower, immediately noticing the bruising on his sore wrists. He stood under the stream and stared at the grout between the white tiled wall. The water hit his face and he scrubbed profusely with his fingers, he knew he was irritating his skin, but felt he couldn't remove the filth. He opened the shower curtain to glance at the cabinet next to the shower, it was full of clean washcloths and loofahs. He shuddered at the washcloths and grabbed his jaw gently, it still ached. He grabbed a loofah before closing the shower curtain and coating it in body wash. He ran the loofah over his skin aggressively, turning the water's temperature up higher. The shower filled with steam that Frank choked on as his pressed his back against the wall. His mind ran rampant. If it were not for the overbearing feeling of grime on his skin, he would've thought this was just a gut-wrenching nightmare. The man next door that Frank had adorned had really just attacked him, completely unprovoked. Blackmailed him? Took his body and his sobriety? Every ounce of hope Frank had grown for nearly three weeks was shattered, and all because he trusted the wrong person? His fucking neighbor, his good friend's legal guardian, his step-father and mother's friend for fuck's sake. What was to be expected of him now? Frank began to hyperventilate as everything had finally settled into his mind. He looked forward and realized he had been sitting in fetal position on the tub floor, watching a small stream of crimson swirl down the drain. He was completely beside himself. </p><p> </p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There are some things that are important for me to clear up:<br/>Bert=Robert, Stephen=Steve, they alternate to show other character's closeness/relationships to them. I'm sorry it was confusing to some!</p><p>I know that one of the tags on this story was "Eventual Smut/Maybe", but wanted to clarify that by NO MEANS meant this chapter. What happened was not intended to be classified as smut; rape is an act of violence, and I apologize immensely if it was too graphic at any point :(</p><p> </p><p>I'm sorry to leave off with another cliff hanger! This chapter was just way too long, and I hope to update as soon as possible! Thank you to anyone who's still reading, I love ya'll!  (please don't hate me!!)</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
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    <p>Frank spent the days leading up to his return to school lying in bed. He pretended he was sick when called down for dinner or Dave told him Bert asked about him. He crept down the stairs and ate leftovers in the late hours of the night when he stomach begged him for sustenance. He wanted to deprive his body of it's instinct to survive; his body no longer felt like it belonged to him. It felt foreign, a stolen vessel he had no choice but to seek occupancy in. So for the first few days of the new year, he laid in bed, head empty, pretending he didn't exist. There was no way to move forward. The sound of his own voice startled him when his mother walked into his room and handed him his phone, ”School starts tomorrow, and I want you to have your phone for emergencies. I'm trusting you, so please, please don't take advantage of this. I love you, and I'm so proud of you, sweetheart.” He wished his mother's words would've soothed him, but he felt nothing. He tried to smile meekly, allowed her to kiss him on the cheek before she left. But he felt guilty for even allowing his mother to come in contact with such a filthy thing. He wished he could seek comfort in confiding in her, but knew it would hurt her when he failed a drug test. Her words of affirmation the past few days had fallen on deaf ears, Frank refused to let such kind words break through the shell of a body undeserving. The second he was alone with the phone in his hands, he sent a text. It was practically instinctual the way he texted Justin, asking to meet up the next day before school.</p>
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<p>Meeting Justin on the way to school did not go as planned. Justin's eyes lit up as Frank approached, but Frank could see a hint of anger hidden inside them. “Hey man”, Frank tried to come off as casual, but his voice cracked and came out raspy and nervous. He reached forward to give Justin a handshake to discreetly place the money in his palm. Justin reached into his pocket and grabbed Frank's hand. Frank could feel a small plastic baggy scrape against his palm, but could also feel the folded bills in his hand again, “Dude, what?” Justin shook his head softly before he stared Frank down, “I've been around a lot longer than you, been around this shit and dealin for a lot longer.” Frank looked up, confused, but Justin cut him off again before he could speak up. “I know you weren't reselling my shit. And I know you got caught”, Justin said, looking more angry now. “You were reachin out more, pickin up more, droppin weight and quite frankly, you looked like dog shit the last time I saw you. I don't hear from you for weeks – you had my stomach in knots, had me thinkin' you were fuckin dead. That's when I realized I can't do this shit anymore man, cause I care about you. Then you hit me up like nothing's off, wanting to pick up at <i>seven fuckin AM</i>, you put weight back on, you look a hell of a lot better. You obviously got your shit together and you want me to help make it fall apart?” Justin's demeanor softened as Frank felt enraged. What kind of fucking dealer was he? Frank doesn't text him so he assumes he's dead and suddenly cares? Frank puts on a little weight and suddenly that proves he's a drug addict? He felt his fists ball up at his sides, he opened his mouth to yell but Justin's laughter shut him up. “Of course you're mad. You wanna yell? Wanna hit me? Wanna tell me off about how <i>I'm</i> the douchebag here, how I can't have a conscience? Or you wanna sit there and lie through your teeth about how <i>I'm</i> wrong, how you're not an addict? I've heard it all before and in a few years when you're still alive, you'll <i>thank</i> me. So no, I'm not taking your money, I won't be answering your texts, and don't bother asking anyone in the scene. If they know me, they're not selling to you. I threw in some anxiety meds cause you probably need 'em, but they're controlled substances so they'll probably show up in a piss test for a week. Take care of yourself.” And just like that, he was walking in the opposite direction. Frank stood there, fists still clenched tight, eyes burning as they welled up with tears. It wasn't fair, none of it was fair. Mentally, he had clocked out of the present: his mind was constantly reliving New Years over and over again, there was no relief. How was he expected to get through anything, experience anything when his mind was working against him? He was pushing forth a body that no longer belonged to him.</p>
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<p>The Klonopin Justin gave him helped ease his nerves through his first few periods. There were only a few in the bag, and as expected, he took them all at once. After googling their description on his phone, he found out they were a very low dose, which made sense because by time English class began, he was sober. He was sober and regretting wasting his time to feel the minor relief they gave him for such a short period of time. However, as class began, he started to question his sanity when he noticed pale skin and jet black hair in his peripherals. He did a double take so quickly, his head spun.</p>
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<p>He stared at the boy seated next to him, waiting for his attention. His hair looked freshly washed, maybe even trimmed slightly, and he was wearing skin-tight blue jeans with an over-sized black hoodie. He stared forward intently as their teacher directed the class and took notes every few minutes. Frank didn't understand how he didn't feel his eyes burning holes into him. He didn't have the chance to speak to him, the class was dead silent and he knew he'd just get lectured for interrupting if he tried. He waited until their next class together before he finally spoke up. “Gerard, hi”, his voice practically a rasped out whisper. Gerard tucked his hair behind his ear tightly before smiling softly, “Hey.” Class began and Frank couldn't get more than one word answers out of his friend. It was awkward and Gerard's dismissive responses were adding salt to the wounds of an unsettled mind. He felt tears welling in his eyes again and couldn't understand how he'd let himself get so weak. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried this much, it had to have been years. </p>
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<p>The rest of the day went by excruciatingly slow, he tried finding anything to keep him distracted but no matter what he tried to do, no matter how hard he securely wrapped his arms around himself, he didn't feel safe; he felt skittish and vulnerable all day. And it was only made worse when the final bell rang and he accidentally walked into Tyler, one of Paul's goons. “Watch where you're going, faggot!”, he spat as he shoved Frank's shoulders, slamming his spine into a nearby locker. Frank couldn't understand what happened, but the second his shoulder blades made contact with the cold metal, it was as if he was gone. He was convinced he passed out, because for a split second, everything just went completely black. When he came to, he opened his eyes to Tyler backing away slowly with a disgusted look on his face, “The fuck's wrong with you?” Frank blinked slowly, eyes wide, “What?” Tyler's eyes narrowed back at him, “You kept saying 'Stop or I'll scream'...The fuck is wrong with you, junkie”, he spat before shoving Frank back once more and walked off. </p>
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<p>Frank stumbled out of the building with weak knees. <i>Stop or I'll scream?<i> Did he really say that repeatedly to <i>Tyler</i>? His brain was hit with a wave of memories of Stephen all over again. He tried to will his legs to go directly home, but he found himself pulling a cigarette out at the smoker's spot. He sat down in the grass and struggled to light his cigarette as his hands shook violently. He finally got it after the fifth try and stood up again to lean against the tree behind him. He inhaled so deeply, it could've easily looked like it'd be his last. He shoved his hands in his pockets to avoid fixating on how they trembled. “Hey”, he heard a soft voice approach him and jump. It was Gerard. He glanced up at him, but still couldn't find the right words to stay, still shook up. “I didn't mean to startle you, I just feel really bad for earlier”, Gerard said as he let out an uncomfortable chuckle. He lit his own cigarette as Frank struggled to ash his cigarette. “Frank, are you using?”, Gerard asked in a rushed whisper. Frank looked up scared and shook his head rapidly. “N-n-no, I swear. S-s-sorry, just having a rough day”, Frank stammered. Gerard nodded in understanding, “I'm sorry, I forgot – today is probably a lot for you, huh?” Frank didn't even want to try to explain that being at school wasn't what brought him to the verge of tears and violent trembling. No, he could never tell Gerard, <i>ever</i>. </i></i></p>
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    <i>The sound of his own voice sounded foreign to him, “When did you get back, Gee? Are you okay?” Gerard nearly scoffed and averted his eyes to the ground, “A few days ago. Sorry. There's a lot I've wanted to say, but couldn't find the words. I just wanted to focus on school today. I love you, but this has just been <i>so much</i>, Frankie. I'm proud of you though.” Frank felt a pang of guilt at Gerard's word. Yeah, Frank was sober, <i>currently</i>. But he'd tried throwing that away this morning, <i>Stephen</i> had thrown that away. Frank? He was nothing now. Sobriety made him realize he was a ghost before, but what was the point of being sober now if he was still a hollow shell? An empty vessel coursing through the day without a compass, zero recollection from here to there, a scrawny fuck-up who was apparently now blacking out and reliving his nightmares without any awareness? His eyes met Gerard's, and he didn't know what to say. “I missed you so much, Gee. I'm so sorry”, he mumbled. He kicked at the dirt beneath his feet, tossing his cigarette, “I should go, Mom said I can't hang around without reporting... First day of trust, ya know?” Gerard's eyes looked sad for a moment before perking up slightly, “Yeah, I get it. Missed you too, of course.” Frank nodded to himself before he began to walk away. “Frankie, wait!”, Gerard called out, running up to him. Frank stopped and glanced over to Gerard, confused. He couldn't explain why, but he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole, he knew he wasn't the person Gerard missed anymore. He was tainted now, much more damaged than he was before holiday break. He wasn't <i>anyone</i> anymore. “There's so much I've wanted to say, but couldn't find the right words.. But they're eating me alive”, Gerard rushed out. Frank's eyes searched his face, trying to find any hints to what his friend was getting at. Gerard smiled softly before grabbing Frank's face in his palms and kissed him. It took a minute for Frank to register what was happening; he hadn't responded to it until he felt Gerard's tongue gliding across his bottom lip, begging for entry. Frank opened his mouth, granting permission and welcoming. The kiss was soft and sweet and shy, and Frank felt the butterflies in his stomach he'd only heard about in movies. It ended far too soon for Frank's liking when Gerard pulled back and smiled, showing teeth. “Can I come home with you?”, Gerard whispered, pressing his forehead against Frank's. Frank smiled back before nodding. They began to walk towards Frank's house, and Frank felt his stomach do somersaults every time their pinkies brushed.  </i>
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    <i>He knew his face was flushed when they walked in the front door and his mother was standing in the living room; she'd probably deny it, but he knew she took off of work to see out his entire first day at school. Dave was at work and he knew no matter how much she'd claim to trust him that the underlying worry would be there for a while. She greeted the boys, clearly surprised by Gerard but tried to play it off casually with a “Gerard! How have you been, sweetheart? Great to see you again!” Frank mumbled an excuse about needing to work on homework together as he grabbed Gerard's wrist and dragged him up the stairs. When they took off their coats and dropped their bags, Frank noticed Gerard close the door out of habit and thought about mentioning that the door had no lock anymore, but couldn't find words or a reason why it would be necessary. He sat down on his bed with Gerard and could feel the stretch of his smile spread across his face. He'd missed his friend to pieces, but where did this bring them? Was this the confirmation that Frank's affinity for him were mutual? Gerard smiled back at him before leaning in and kissing him again. It went from passionate to heated within seconds. Frank allowed his tongue to explore every space of Gerard's mouth, his head felt light, body heavy and in a way it reminded him of when he used to get high. It didn't trigger him, but gave him another reason to stay sober; finally acknowledging just how great the good feelings could be with a sober mind, too. It was like experiencing everything for the first time, his stomach fluttered, his face red. Frank wrapped his hands around Gerard's neck, twisting his fingers through the soft, black locks of hair gently as he felt Gerard shift on the bed. Gerard found his way between Frank's legs, his elbows propped up on either side of Frank's head as he tugged on his hair, his other hand softly stroking his face. They continued kissing, a mess of roaming hands and panted breaths and Frank could swear he felt like he was flying, it was all so surreal. He felt Gerard  gently grind his hips down against his own. Frank impulsively wrapped his denim-clothed legs around Gerard's hips. The friction set his body on fire; this was everything he'd wanted, <i>more</i> than what he'd ever wanted, it felt like a dream.</i>
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    <i>A dream that ended too soon; a dream where you're falling and violently jerk your body bracing for impact. Gerard's hand stroking his face lowered, grazing his throat. Frank knew he'd either blacked out or somehow managed to fall asleep; vivid memories of Stephen's hand wrapped around his throat flooded his mind, he knew <i>Gerard</i> would never do that to him, it had to be a nightmare the way he could feel the unbearable weight pressed against his windpipe.</i>
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    <i>“Frankie! Frankie”, Gerard yelped, slightly shaking Frank's shoulders. Frank's eyes shot open instantly to see Gerard leaning over him with glassy eyes. “I'm sorry! Oh my god, did I fall asleep!?”, Frank rasped out. Gerard sat up straight and twiddled his fingers in his lap, eyes on Frank's face uncomfortably. Frank sat upright and looked at Gerard, bod language full of questions. “What?”, Frank asked, subconsciously reaching his hand to his collarbones, fingers spreading across the base of his throat as if to check that it hadn't actually been brutalized. “Frankie...”, Gerard's voice trailed off as he stared at the grey carpet. Frank wrapped an arm around Gerard's shoulders and pretended he didn't notice the way Gerard flinched at the touch. He pressed his face into the crook of Gerard's neck, slightly nuzzling as if silently encouraging the boy to finish what he was saying. “Frankie...w-what happened to you?”, Gerard said, words laced with concern. Frank didn't know why he got so defensive, he went from feeling as if he were flying just to have the wings ripped from his back and sent down to Earth at light speed. “What are you talking about”, Frank spat, retracting his arm from Gerard to hold himself tightly. He glanced over to Gerard who's eyes were wide and he felt his own eyes stinging as he fought back tears. “You started making choking sounds and crying...Did you not feel any of it? I wasn't even choking you, I was just rubbing your neck.. I didn't mean to scare you. But you just... like, disappeared. You weren't there anymore, completely non-responsive.. You scared the shit out of me”, Gerard sad sadly. Frank shut down completely, overwhelmed and numb while his body tingled, “I don't know what you're talking about. Nothing happened.” Gerard placed his hand on Frank's knee, “Frank, you were gone..You were <i>crying</i>, for like ten minutes.. Are you high?” Frank's face went red with rage, “No, I'm not high! Nothing happened, it was an accident! I must've zoned out!”</i>
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    <i>Gerard's face was full of pity and it made Frank's stomach sick. “I-I've been dealing with a lot. It's been hard since you left.. I'm sorry, Gee.” Frank leaned in and left a soft peck on Gerard's cheek. Gerard leaned into it with a small smile and closed eyes before regaining his composure, “I'm sorry for how things left off.. I'm on my medication again, things are going to be okay, I promise.. I'm just not ready to talk about stuff yet”, he mumbled, rubbing his hand over Frank's knee. “Yeah, I'm not ready to talk about stuff either”, Frank whispered. </i>
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    <i>They sat in silence for a few minutes before Gerard said goodbye and left. Frank wasn't ready to be left alone again, his mind was working against him like a parasite. He had too many questions left unanswered. Did Gerard really love him? Romantically? Or was this another thing they wouldn't speak about again? Was Stephen going to destroy every experience Frank had? His mind raced and even after opening his bedroom door, he felt unsafe again. His skin was crawling and every time he closed his eyes, he could feel the older man next door's hands on his skin. He sat in bed for what felt like ten minutes, mind racing before he was broken from his thoughts by a loud knock on his door frame. “Hey kid, get your stuff together, we're headin' next door while your mom goes to work”, Dave said without looking up. Frank felt his stomach drop and his legs go numb, his hands began to shake again. He couldn't will his body to move until Dave grabbed his arm tightly and pulled him up, grabbing his backpack with the other. There was no way he could walk into the McCracken household.</i>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry this chapter is short and unbeta'd! I will be updating this more soon, I've been caught up in up in my other fic and have had major writer's block with Avalanche! This was a rewrite of a fic I wrote over ten years ago and it was unfinished, so I'm finally at a point where I can take this wherever I want and it's been challenging! Honestly some of this is hard for me to write. I'm not the happiest with this chapter, but I tried! lol</p>
<p>Thank you to anyone who's still reading! I loooove all your comments and feedback! &lt;3</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank felt his feet dragging in the grass as Dave kept a solid grip on his arm, pulling him to the neighbor's door. His legs felt like jello, boneless and unable to keep his body upright as his step father rang the doorbell. “What's gotten into you? Are you sick?”, Dave asked in a hushed tone. Frank mumbled something about having a bad day to dismiss the questioning, but nothing seemed to work in his favor lately. “Did something happen at school today?”, his tone surprisingly concerned. Frank shrugged and just as he saw Dave's mouth open, the door opened. Frank's head immediately turned down and stared at his feet. “Hey, come on in!”, Stephen greeted. Dave kept his hold on Frank's arm, but lightened his grip to guide him inside when he realized he wasn't moving. As they walked inside, Frank stayed at Dave's side, but kept his eyes focused on the worn-out toes of his Vans. “Long time no see Frank, gone to any meetings?”, Stephen spoke up cheerfully. Frank knew it was a discreet way of keeping him in check, a subtle reminder to keep his mouth shut in fear of being sent away or kicked out. Frank shrugged and mumbled, eyes down. He didn't even mumble words, just kept his voice so low he hoped no one would question him. Dave leaned in, voice hushed in Frank's ear, “You sure you're okay?” Frank nodded meekly before Dave suggested he go upstairs to Bert's room. He struggled to will his legs to move forward, and convinced himself his only motivation was to get himself as far away from Stephen as possible.</p><p> </p><p>He knocked softly on the frame of Bert's door, but found no relief when his friend's eyes lit up. He walked in and sat on the edge of the bed. “Hey man, how ya been?”, Bert asked. Frank's eyes refused to meet his, instead focusing on the homework spread out across the bed in front of him. “'M okay”, he shrugged. “Yeah, first day back and my fuckin' teachers still won't lighten up as if I didn't spend three weeks doing work”, Bert chuckled as he lined his homework up neatly and placed it in a folder to the side. Frank pulled at the hem of the sleeves of his shirt, staring at his lap. He had nothing to say to his friend. He couldn't help but wish it <i>was</i> Bert that crept into his bed on New Years, at least Bert would've stopped when he told him to...right? Or was Bert McCracken one in the same as his uncle? Was the need to control and destroy lives something that ran in their bloodline? Was he even safe with him? No, no, no, of course he was. He'd shown up to Bert's room so high off his ass in the past he was barely conscious and nothing had happened. Of course his friend wouldn't take advantage of that, right? “Dude, are you okay?” Frank's head shot up, “Hmm?” Bert's brows furrowed and his mouth pressed into a thin frowning line. “Are you okay? Zoned out for a bit there”, Bert said, eyes scanning Frank up and down. Was he genuinely curious or assessing how likely Frank was to fight back if he took what he wanted from him? Frank didn't like the panic that filled him, he could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up. </p><p> </p><p>“You're good...right? I know it's only been a week, but something feels...off?”, Bert asked, voice hushed as if asking a secret, “Everything went okay today, right?” Frank couldn't keep eye contact with Bert for longer than several seconds at a time and didn't know what he was expected to say, so he settled for shaking his head while staring at his shoes. He felt his heart race as he felt a dip in the mattress, Bert shuffling to sit closer to Frank, legs crossed. Frank stared harder at his shoes and pulled harder at his sleeves, hoping his fears weren't true. He clenched his eyes shut and bit his lip as he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Is this about Gerard?”, Bert asked softly. Frank almost felt grateful that he wasn't asked if he was using again, but couldn't help but be confused by the new topic. He glanced over at Bert, taking in the concern on his face; no trace of anger or malice. He didn't look like Stephen at all, but his expressions were especially unlike his uncle. “What?”, Frank mumbled. Bert's hand retracted and he glanced down for a moment before looking at Frank with guilt in his eyes. “He texted me when he got back. He told me not to tell you and I was going to tell you anyway but I figured it was something to say in person, but you never came back over. I didn't wanna just knock on your door and tell you.. I'm sorry, I didn't wanna trigger anything”, Bert frowned. Frank didn't understand why Bert thought Gerard's return would “trigger” him, and it must've shown on his face. “Look, I don't know how any of this works.. I don't want to be up in your business, unless you want me to be – I just don't know what gets under your skin and what doesn't. I just wanna be able to help you however I can”, Bert said sadly.  Frank cringed at the words. They reminded him of how encouraging Stephen was a few weeks ago and the paranoia crept back in on whether Bert was genuine or not. But then there was also the question of why Gerard would tell Bert not to tell him when he came back. In this moment, he just wanted to get high. He was crawling in his skin and wished for nothing more than to unzip his flesh and allow his skeleton to step out and fall into a dusted pile of bones. It was too much for him. What else were Bert and Gerard talking about? Frank never liked attention and the thought of him being a topic of discussion made him feel sick. “Are you alright? You look green”, Bert pressed. Frank's skin felt clammy and he wanted to run to the bathroom down the hall and throw up. But the thought of the bathroom reminded him of his last morning in the McCracken house. He felt dirty again, filthy. He thought back to the guest room next to the bathroom and his head was spinning. The room felt like it was closing in on him, within seconds he could swear he could feel Stephen's hands on his skin. It was too much, it was all too much, he felt like there wasn't enough air in the room. There was nowhere to run and surely no place to hide.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~</p><p>He couldn't see anything and could only feel the drool dripping down his chin. Rough hands gripping his body as he writhed and struggled to scream, choking on the cloth in his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Frank woke up in a daze, curling into a ball and clutching at his own body desperately. He was covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing heavily, the air of his bedroom thick and eerily reminding him of detoxing in Gerard's room several weeks prior. <i>Fucking nightmares</i>. He'd had nightmares every time his body attempted to sleep. He looked glanced over at his alarm clock and realized he was up an hour before he had to be for school. He wanted to go to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he gagged; he could feel hands grabbing at him, the feeling of being torn open. He pulled himself out of bed to take a shower, but ended up sitting on the bottom of the tub as the water ran.</p><p> </p><p>Through long wet strands of hair, he stared at the beads of water tumbling down the tiled walls and porcelain. The tapping of the droplets against the tub reminded him of the horrible bouts of downpour cast down on Jersey two autumns ago. Late September, the downpour had been unpredictable in short bursts on even the brightest of days. He was walking home with Paul as the sun was setting when they'd gotten caught in the rain. The rain had poured so heavily, the sound of each droplet colliding with the concrete reminded him of the applause of a small audience. He kept running despite the burning in his chest as his lungs screamed for more air, and collided into Paul’s chest with a fit of violent laughter. He hadn’t even noticed Paul was holding his hand until they were standing under the awning of Paul's house. Paul kissed him hungrily, lips slipping against his rain soaked face and not caring. It was the first and only time they’d ever kissed in public before, Paul was painfully aware of public eye and still ashamed of his sexuality.</p><p> </p><p>He struggled to dig through the soaked denim pockets of his pants for his keys before unlocking the door and leading Frank in with his other hand, fingers entwined. The front door closed and he immediately reached down to kiss Frank, it was chaste; no teeth or tongue but passionate, intimate even. They’d run up the stairs after kicking their shoes off into Paul’s room. Giggling, a mess of clumsy hands struggling to strip the other of the heavy clothes before tossing them in a wet pile they’d worry about later.</p><p> </p><p>Frank tried his hardest to keep his eyes open, the Valium he had snorted earlier weighed his eyelids down but he wanted to soak up the intimacy of the small exchanged touches between them. It wasn’t rushed like it normally was. Frank can’t remember where Paul’s parents were off to, just knew they weren’t home. Paul’s long fingers were wrapped around his hips as if they belonged there, filling in the dips, gentle and protective. When they were together like this, they were in their own bubble, away from the rest of the big bad world. He remembers it so clearly, goosebumps litter his skin at the memory of Paul’s lips peppering kisses from his neck to his collar bone as he guided his body to the bed. He remembers stealing glances at the smile on Paul's face as he was kissed repeatedly. Frank remembers reaching down to stroke his friend’s hard on, the small gasps in his ear as he stroked Frank’s face and kissed at his cheeks. </p><p> </p><p>But he also remembers when Paul reached over to touch him. The pause that froze them both before Paul sat up quickly, “What the fuck?” Frank scrambled to cover his wet body with the blanket as he stammered, “I-it’s not what you think! I’m into it!” Paul’s face went red, most likely in both embarrassment and rage. His voice raised, “Well it <i>looks</i> like you’re not into this anymore! I knew you were fucking around with Brian!” Brian was a random person who’d make small talk at parties with them, a no one to Frank; he couldn’t even describe his characteristics to someone if he had to, he'd never paid him much attention. He wasn’t even in love with or purposely exclusive with Paul. They were just two friends messing around, but Paul’s possessiveness and jealousy had been increasing throughout the summer. “I’m not fucking around with anyone! Christ’s sake Paul, it’s the pills”, Frank grimaced. There was a long silence and Frank heard a choked sigh but couldn’t raise his head to confirm whether or not Paul was starting to cry. “I think you should go home”, Paul whispered angrily. Frank glanced up to realize there were several wet streaks down his friend’s face, “C’mon man, it’s not like that. I copped Valium off Justin yesterday.. I can still get you off, I’m into it.” Paul shook his head, “This isn’t the first time it’s happened, Frank.” Frank stood up searching for his soaked boxers on the floor, “Okay well it’s the benzos. Sometimes they just - they just stop everything down there. It doesn’t mean anything, dude.” Frank struggled to pull his wet clothes onto his body and knew if his friend really made him go home, the wet denim would chafe against his skin. He stood in his friend's doorway in his saturated clothes, “I'm sorry.” Paul looked up at him, hurt and angry, “Just get the fuck out.”</p><p> </p><p>A knock at the door startled Frank. “Hey Frankie I'm heading out! Have a good day at school”, His mother called out from the other side of the door. He wanted to say thank you, and wish the same for her, but his mouth wouldn't open. He stared forward at the drain of the tub, the water swirling through it. Flashes of him vomiting in Gerard's bathtub going through withdrawals flashed quickly through his eyelids. He clenched his eyes shut and flinched, before glancing back. Blood circling the drain on New Year's Day at the McCracken's flashed through his mind. He flinched again and felt his body tense up before glancing back at the drain. The memory of blood circling the drain only reminding him of his last day at Gerard's house – all the blood, all of Gerard's blood. His body tensed as he wrapped his hands around his shins tighter. His breathing was growing more shallow, chest heaving beneath him as he fought to get air in his lungs.1</p><p> </p><p>“Frank!”, Dave yelled. Frank's head shot up as his step-father hurried towards him with a towel. He reached over, turning off the faucet before wrapping the towel around Frank's body and pulling him up to his feet. His hands firmly held Frank's towel-clad shoulders as he guided him to step out of the tub before leaning down to look him in the eyes. “What's gotten into you?”, he asked, his face stern, but not angry, almost concerned. Frank didn't know what answer he was expected to give, didn't know how long he was in the shower or what he had done to provoke Dave to pick the bathroom door's lock and rush in. He didn't know why he still couldn't catch his breath, or why he started sobbing hysterically. Dave pulled him in, holding him so tightly it almost hurt, but the intention was clearly not to cause pain, but to comfort. It felt like a switch had gone off in Frank's brain, some type of broken lever, a short circuit in his mind that wouldn't allow him to stop crying. He struggled to catch his breath as he buried his face into his step-father's chest. A few moments passed before Dave guided him to his bedroom and sat him down on the bed. Frank's mind went blank and he couldn't tell if he was still crying as he watched Dave dig through his drawers. He placed a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and boxer briefs on the bed next to Frank before rubbing his shoulder. “Get yourself dressed and relax, I'll come back up with something for you to eat. Don't worry about school”, Dave said practically whispering. It reminded Frank of the time he looked concerned when the dope were found in his room. Dave got up and walked out of the room but Frank couldn't stop shivering from the cold air and thinking about how Dave's voice sounded distant. It reminded him of being underwater. His head was foggy.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~</p><p>Dave was brooding with guilt. He had used his Paid Time Off at work for the third day in a row, still claiming he'd been dealing with “a family emergency”, because honestly – what else do you call it when you bang on the bathroom door repeatedly with no response and assume your step-son had relapsed and overdosed in the bathroom? What was the work-appropriate term for walking in on your step-son, white as a ghost, shivering and curled up in a ball of the shower, eyes empty staring forward at nothing? Linda said he'd already been in the shower when she left for work, which meant he had to have been in the shower for at least two hours by time Dave had found him; he remembers how cold the water had gotten when he reached in to turn off the shower head. He'd taken him out of the shower, wrapped him up and his step-son had sobbed hysterically. Dave would be lying through his teeth if he'd told anyone he wasn't terrified. He'd left Frank with clothes while he ran downstairs to make some toast and grab a glass of water for him, only to return to see Frank still sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in the towel where he'd left him. His eyes were empty, near catatonic. It was like dressing a storefront mannequin to pull his clothes over his body, and Dave had to practically pick him up to position him in a laying position in his bed. Dave knew his wife was downplaying the entire thing to seem in-control, her fight or flight response had her either panicking frantically around the house or pretending everything was fine, but he knew she only pretended everything was fine to avoid anyone surrounding her from panicking. It was similar to the way you brush off a scraped knee when a child is hurt, they won't panic unless they see you panic. But this time, his wife's calm stature brought him no relief.<br/>
He had searched online aimlessly when his son started attending NA meetings with their neighbor, he wanted to have some sort of understanding of what was going on. Meeting Steve McCracken had been a godsend, someone who somehow knew the right ways to get him to approach his worsening alcoholism. Steve approached him with care, didn't beat around the bush without berating or belittling him. It was something he had truly needed to slow things down. It wasn't that Linda hadn't approached with caution as things had dwindled out of control time and time again, but she was his wife, and he hoped one day that he'd be able to express to her it was his own hubris that stopped him from accepting her help. Steve had even helped him get a job, a job he struggled to keep until he was guided through withdrawals the second week in by his new friend. Dave could only admit to himself and his friend that it had been too overwhelming, the shakes, the convulsions, the cold sweats, the hallucinations of alcohol withdrawal. He couldn't handle having to take diazepam to stop the seizing. He had made is through most of the withdrawals, but he couldn't push himself through the brunt of it. He still drank, but not to get drunk; he'd gotten himself down to a system, drinking solely to keep off the withdrawals. He knew his day was coming soon to end it all, and he felt he was almost, ready, mainly due to how he watched his step-son recover. He was jealous of how after the detox itself, he submitted to the rules and had started attending meetings with Steve. Dave was envious of how easy the teen almost made it look. But even more strongly, he felt he understood part of what his step-son was going through.</p><p>Through his research, Dave had come across internet forums. Forums full of thousands of people around the world who were members of Alcoholics Anonymous. And he felt it helped him. He knew he wasn't going about it the proper way. But he knew this had been a start. The night before finding his step-son in the shower, he'd discovered the 8thth Step of Recovery: Willingness, '<i>Make a list of all person we had harmed, and become willing to make amends with them all.'</i> It struck a nerve when the first people he had thought of were his wife and step-son. He had treated his step-son poorly when he drank, he <i>knew</i> that. But he hated how he projected his own life onto the boy. He hated how history was repeating itself; how he was treating Frank as his own father had treated him. His father had been a useless drunk his entire life; a man he swore he'd never be. He ran away from home when he was nineteen, worked his ass off to make a sober, happy, life for himself. Where that changed was where the lines had been blurred. He knew when he was ready to face his addiction properly was when that would have no other choice but to surface. But his guilt in the current moment had overwhelmed and exhausted him as he saw more and more each day how far Frank had been taken under.</p><p> </p><p>His step-son hadn't said a word in days, barely shook his head or nodded in response of a question that had to be asked repeatedly. Dave knew his wife agreed that maybe he needed to be seen by a specialist. They thought the detox itself would have been the worst part of discovering Frank's addiction, but they were never prepared for whatever this was. The second day, Dave invited Steve over. From his few interactions in AA forums, he'd known there were slight differences in how AA and NA operated. He'd assumed his step-son's odd reaction and complete disassociation had something to do with his newfound sobriety, and figured his friend who'd chaperoned him to NA could help.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry for the delay! i've been busy with school D:<br/>i appreciate any/all feedback</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last sound Frank had wanted to hear was Stephen’s, but disappointment was nothing new to him, and he reminded himself that when he heard the man’s voice greet him before focusing on the sound of the hinges of his bedroom door close. He was laying in bed on his side, on top of the covers and facing the wall. Frank had no concept of how much time he’d spent in this position, he couldn’t tell how he felt anymore and thought it was somewhat ironic; he’s started getting high when he felt <i>too much</i>, always thought he felt too much, too many different things at once, always wished to feel nothing at all, a blank slate, an empty canvas, void of emotion, spent so much time snorting and shooting any substance that offered to slow the racing thoughts, hinder all the emotions running through him. But here he was, feeling not much of anything at all. He felt hollow now, and almost missed feeling too much. He went back and forth between feeling like nothing to feeling trapped inside his own skin. Nothing felt it belonged to him anymore. </p>
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<p>He was quickly brought back to the present by the feeling of the bed dipping slightly behind him. “Dave tells me you haven’t been doing so well”, Stephen said coolly. Frank felt his breath get caught in his throat, clenched his eyes shut as he reminded himself that this was <i>his</i> bedroom, <i>his</i> house.. If anything happened, he could scream and his mother or Dave would race up the stairs, there still wasn't a lock on the door. He didn’t even know who was home, didn't even know what day it was anymore. Too caught up in his internal monologue, he hadn’t realized Stephen was still talking and only caught the tail end, “asked if I’d take you to a meeting cause you haven’t been yourself, but I think I know something that’ll make you feel like yourself again.” Frank was surprised when he heard his own voice rasp out, “I’m clean now, I don't want to get high anymore.” He turned over onto his back, head angled to look up into Stephen’s eyes, pray for him to see the genuity and not offer him drugs. He didn't want to get high, but even he knew he couldn't trust his own words if presented with drugs. Stephen scoffed loudly and smirked with dark eyes, “I’m not talking about drugs. It’d make no sense to mention meetings and then get you high.” His laugh was soft but condescending, as if he thought the younger boy were stupid - as if he hadn't lied to the boy’s face and fed him painkillers under the guise that they were NSAIDS, as if he hadn't thrown away his sobriety to emphasize his own threats weeks prior.. his laughter made Frank’s hair stand up, again struggling to remind himself he was safe in his own home. He glanced up at his neighbor with questioning eyes. “I know something else that’ll make you feel better”, Stephen repeated as his hands reached over to the waistband of Frank’s sweatpants. Frank’s body went rigid, he wanted to scream but felt frozen. He wanted to yell in his neighbor’s face, spit at him and tell him to just leave him the fuck alone, but his voice escaped him. He clenched his eyes shut so tightly, he saw small colorful stars behind the blacks of his eyelids, hoping he could will the man away with only his thoughts. He felt the man pull down his sweatpants and boxer briefs in one quick motion, gritted his teeth as he felt Stephen stroke his flaccid dick. He hoped if he didn’t react, he’d get mad and leave him alone, but his thoughts just kept racing ‘ why <i>me</i> why does he want to do this to <i>me</i>?’ Stephen was talking again but Frank’s mind couldn’t comprehend the words, he sounded far away, despite his rough hands that roamed the teen’s body. “C’mon Frankie, you wouldn’t be like this for Gerard, would you?”, Stephen asked. Frank fought back the urge to gag, tears welling in his eyes as he glanced up at the man. How did he know how he felt about Gerard? How dare he mention Gerard when it was <i>his</i> fault that Gerard had even questioned his sobriety, even questioned that something was wrong with him? He wanted to be angry, he wanted to punch and kick and scream with teeth bared. But his body was heavy under the weight of the sadness that clawed at his chest from the inside out, he felt paralyzed with fear and he couldn’t rationalize any of it. </p>
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<p>~~~~</p>
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<p>He vaguely remembered Stephen laughing at him. He remembered the man’s hands groping him harsh enough to leave bruises on his hips, but was still too afraid to look at his reflection to check. He remembers venomous words and threats hissed into his ear, when the neighbor grew tired of trying to get a reaction from his body. He remembers being thrown onto his stomach and the feeling of cold spit run down his entrance and his thighs as the man spread him wide and forcefully prepped him with calloused fingers. He remembers the grip of his dirty hand across Frank’s mouth as he entered him. He remembers the grunts, the pants, the small praises that made his stomach churn. But aside from that, he felt as if he weren’t there; as if he had hidden himself away in some dark corner of his mind, saw it almost as a blessing, an emotional survival tactic that struggled to disconnect his mind from his body. Frank couldn’t tell when it began or when it ended, how much time had passed. He would’ve denied it even happened if it hadn’t been for the dried tears on his face and aching body, but when he remembered to look around, he was alone. Stephen had left and Frank couldn’t even tell how long ago. His throat was raw from forcing down bile so he said nothing when his mother opened his bedroom door. </p>
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<p>She looked at him with pity, he could feel it radiating off of her and it made him angry without any energy to express it. She sat down next to him and ran her fingers through his hair and either didn’t notice or ignored it when he flinched and closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath he hadn't even noticed he'd been holding. They sat in silence for a few minutes before she spoke up. “Frank, I don’t know what’s going on and I’m not going to force it from you. But I need you to know I’m here, and it breaks my heart to see my child hurting”, she said, tone gentle. Frank couldn’t open his eyes, the only way to stop himself from rolling them; too many memories flooded his mind of her pretending his body wasn’t littered with bruises from Dave’s stupor that lasted years, or of her harsh words when he’d lost contact with his father and his questioning apparently brought on her rage. He knew his mother loved him, but in the back of his mind, his anxiety reminded him the love still looked a lot like resentment. He felt guilty for even thinking it while she stared at him with glassy eyes. “Do you want to go to school tomorrow?”, she asked, but it sounded rhetorical. He shook his head softly as she sighed, “I figured as much. I called your school when I got home, excused you for the week-” When she got home? Frank tried to piece together that it had to have been at least 8:30-9pm if she had been home for a while. She worked later on weeknights usually. But what concerned him was remembering the sunlight creeping through the cracks of the blinds of his bedroom windows when Stephen was here...Had he really lost track of <i>hours</i>? What place in his mind did he go? Was he sleeping, or just disassociating? “Dave will pick up your school work tomorrow afternoon, but I’m honestly not expecting you to complete it with.. the state you’re in. I know you’re going to say no, but I’ve made an appointment for you this weekend to see a therapist.” Frank’s eyes shot open wide and fearing as he shook his head rapidly. He didn’t want to think about anything - let alone, <i>speak</i> the words. So many thoughts ran rampant through his mind and he didn’t want to struggle to reach up and grasp any of them anymore. He didn't know what he wanted, but it wasn’t to sit and be forced to speak about everything that made his skin crawl. He’d known his mother mentioned a specialist weeks prior, but when he’d returned from detoxing and no appointments were made, he’d assumed he was in the clear. ‘I-I can’t”, Frank croaked. His mother looked down at her lap and shook her head slightly, “It’s not up for discussion and I’m sorry. I told you this would happen when you had your..<i>incident</i>. But something is going on and, honey, it needs to be handled.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
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<p>Two days had passed and Frank had gotten by solely by forcing himself to stay awake. He’d dozed off after the conversation with his mother and woken himself up by an ungodly shrieked he’d let out mid-nightmare. He disassociated most of the time, only being broken from his trance-like state by the sound of his phone pinging - surely texts from Gerard and Bert that he didn’t bother to look at. He felt like the safest place for him in his mind was tucked away from everything, zoning out aimlessly. He knew deep down it wasn’t truly the safest place of his mind, because he was still reliving his neighbor’s hands on his body, but it felt surreal; as if the memories were replaying through his mind but he was in the background faintly ignoring it. He’d thought about drugs a few times, wondering if they could even bring some type of relief from everything, but a darker realization had hit him - he <i>didn’t</i> want to get high, because he didn’t want to <i>exist</i> anymore. The thought alone would normally scare him, but it didn’t this time. All he focus on was the fact that he wanted to fucking <i>die</i>; and that maybe spending his days forcefully zoning out would bring him closer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The squeak of his bedroom door’s hinges sent him on edge as goosebumps littered his skin. Frank hesitated for a moment before turning to see who was entering. He told himself he should’ve felt relieved, but he still felt anxious as he sat up. “Frankie?”, Gerard stammered as he closed the door behind himself softly. “W-what are you doing here?”, Frank stuttered as Gerard sat on the bed. Gerard sighed deeply as he hugged Frank’s tense figure tightly, “Your mom called me and asked me to come over.. I thought I upset you when I left the other day cause you haven’t answered my texts or calls”, Gerard said meekly. Frank looked up and felt his heart skip a beat in his chest, “N-no, you didn’t do anything.. I’m sorry for being weird.” Gerard looked at him as if he’d sprouted several heads in bewilderment, “You’re always weird”, he smiled, “I just don’t ever want to be something bad for you.” Frank couldn’t grasp the thought of Gerard being something “bad” for him. He was practically in love with his friend, since the beginning viewing him as something that changed his life for the better, in his spare time constantly worrying how he could ever make it up to him; the idea that Gerard could be something bad for him was almost humorous. Frank didn’t think twice as his hand reached out to cup his friend’s face, thumb stroking his cheek. Gerard blushed and averted his gaze down and Frank’s heart swelled. Gerard reached his own hand to cup Frank’s as he smiled shyly back at him, “You mean so much to me.” His voice was barely a whisper but Frank read his lips and smiled wide. He wanted Gerard to kiss him again. And as if reading his thoughts, Gerard leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on Frank’s cheeks. Frank blushed deeply before kissing Gerard on the corner of his mouth. The two boys modestly smiled at one another before they both leaned in again until their lips met.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~~~~</p>
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<p>To say she was desperate for answers about her son was an understatement. Linda had been fighting back nausea for days at the thought of what was going on with her son. She couldn’t wrap her head around it - she didn’t even want to know what was going on, feeling guilty for not being as nosy or intrusive as most of her coworkers who were also parents to teenagers. She just wanted to be able to help him, she’d do anything to bring him the peace of mind he so desperately deserved. She hid her overwhelming guilt for her failed marriage with his father from him, she knew her child had always been sensitive and would just blame himself, when she believed she was truly the one to blame. Each issue that had surfaced with him was another confirmation of how she should have tried harder to make it work with his father, should’ve done everything in her power to deny that the two simply fell out of love, should’ve done everything to pretend the infidelities of her child’s father in their marriage hadn’t stung so badly. But at the end of the day she needed no reminder that she had brought her only child into this world, and it was her job to take care of him.</p>
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<p>She had her own suspicions about her son’s relationship with his friend Gerard for a while now. Linda hadn’t been blind to the way her son had looked at other boys over the past few years, whether it was the way his gaze would linger a little too long at the cashier of a local supermarket when she’d bring him along, or the way she’d catch a glimpse of fading hickeys that peaked from the color of his shirts when he’d return from Paul’s house; she’d drawn her on suspicions about her son’s sexuality and had left it alone, hoping he’d come to her when he was comfortable. She’d had to have been blind though to deny that there wasn’t something more than friendly admiration in her son’s eyes when he’d brought Gerard home the past few months. She’d have to be especially ignorant not to notice how he kept mentioning <i>Gerard</i> when she’d taken his phone away after his overdose, the constant pleading for <i>Gerard</i> when the other boy was hospitalized. The appointment she’d made for Frank’s therapy wasn’t for several days and she was desperate to see her son smile, even if just for a fleeting moment. And that was exactly her justification for calling Gerard and asking him to come visit Frank to lift his spirits. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’d always liked Gerard; he carried himself in a confident yet shy manner, not nearly as timid as Frank, kept his arms at his sides, rarely averting his gaze to the floor amidst friendly conversation. He was clearly a self-conscious teen, but there was such sincerity in his eyes when he would glance up to greet her when entering the Iero household, and in the way he stared at Frank, so obviously hanging onto every word her son spoke before the two would go to his room. Gerard would always make small talk with her on his way in and out of the house. She’d felt a little guilty for using the school’s administration faculty to grant her Gerard’s parents’ contact information, but she’d only been looking out for her son when he’d started bringing the boy home months prior. She still hadn’t told her son that she’d had contact with his friend’s parents, but it was only to look out for her child. Mr. and Mrs. Way had been standoffish during their first conversation, but upon meeting in person, Linda had realized they were extremely lovely people. They understood her need to chat with them when their sons began spending time together and had their own concerns about their eldest son. The parents hadn’t become what Linda would consider friends, but emergency contacts if anything; they’d share small updates on their children to one another via group chat from time to time, an attempt to keep all parents in the loop. It was a big part of why Linda had brought her son to the Way’s home to detox weeks prior. It was why she avoided all conversations about Gerard’s hospital visit with her son. It had simply been parents looking out for their struggling teens, and the Ways had been open, honest and nonjudgmental since the beginning, despite how busy they seemed to always be. If her own interactions with Gerard hadn’t made her develop a fondness for her son’s new friend, it had definitely been the way his parents had spoken of him to her. Linda had no reason to mistrust the boy when she had an inkling that something wasn’t right with her son months prior, it was why she thought the best decision currently had been to invite him over to visit Frank in the first place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Linda had not been prepared for how the visit came to an end. She had hoped with all of her heart that when Gerard left, she’d walk up to her son’s room and catch a glimpse of him smiling with a momentary feeling of relief. She’d also expected Gerard to stay for more than an hour, not the reality of the situation. She’d been sitting on the couch downstairs in the living room, trying and failing to focus on a television show she was once invested in. Gerard had rushed down the stairs, struggling to put his jacket on as he gasped out, “I’m so sorry Ms. Iero, I don’t know what happened. I think I should go home now, I didn’t mean to upset Frank.” Before Linda could even ask what had happened, her son’s friend was out the front door. She rushed to her feet and up the staircase to Frank’s bedroom. The door was half-open and when she entered, her son was sitting up in his bed, chin rested on his bent knees as his hands knotted in his dark hair, struggling to catch his breath as he sobbed heavily. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”, she asked, trying to keep her tone composed. He immediately froze and glanced up slightly and she could see the tears in his eyes. She couldn’t even try to imagine what had happened between the two to leave him in such disarray. He looked at her with wide, pleading red eyes as his mouth opened and closed several times, words escaping him. He looked so small and fragile, it broke his mother’s heart. His current state brought her back to memories of his childhood. She’d remembered all the times she’d find him curled up in a corner, tugging on his hair, much more gently than now, near hysteria. When he was a child, roughly six or seven years old, she’d find him like this, and part of her mind longed for the times she’d found her child son, curled up and crying over school, or his father’s absence. At the time, it felt unbearable, but looking back now? It had been much easier to approach a sensitive child unable to understand the situations around him than her teenage son, so close to adulthood with such sad, inconsolable eyes.. a drug addiction.. and something much deeper than that that she was tearing herself apart trying to find the answer to. She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, that she was absolutely <i>terrified</i> of approaching him based off the look on his face alone. She stood frozen in her tracks, equal distance between the bedroom door and the bed, “Frank, it’s okay.. I’m here, everything’s alright.” She hated the trembling of her words, wanting so desperately to come off as strong enough to truly convince her son he was safe. Even if she accepted in this moment to herself that she could not protect her son from the things in his head, she needed him to believe he would be fine. “What happened?”, she asked him, slowly stepping closer to the bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Something’s wrong”, his cracking voice felt like daggers to Linda’s heart. At this point, she felt mad with her internal questioning of what could have possibly happened to her teenage son. Her child felt so far away from her and she choked back regret of all the times she wished her son was more tame; her son who had no issue talking back and slamming doors. She’d wished so hard that they could travel backwards in time to a time where he’d huff and puff and slam his door in her face, hormones to blame for his outbursts of being grounded when he’d missed curfew with Paul, as opposed to the broken down, child-like boy who sat in front of her, struggling to get out of his own bed. “Mom, I-I’m scared”, he whispered as he pushed his body to edge of his bed. Linda took a deep breath, reminding herself to come off as strong and confident, give her son the idea that there was no reason to be scared if she didn’t act scared; like the times too many years prior he’d look at her with tears eyes, afraid of having a loose tooth pulled, or afraid of going down a small hill without training wheels on his bike. She needed to compose herself, seem strong enough for her son to be fearless. “Sweetheart, everything’s going to be alright”, she said firmly. But she’d realized whatever was going on with her son was not liking pulling loose teeth, nothing like riding a bike without training wheels the second he stood off the bed, shaking like a leaf.Linda’s jaw dropped slightly when she’d glanced at her seventeen year old son, who stood crying in front of her, trembling arms struggling to hide the front of his clearly urine-soaked sweatpants.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the inconsistent updates! I've been dealing with a lot lately and this can be SUCH a heavy fic to put energy into sometimes. I've also been writing and posting a lot anonymously in BandomKinkMeme, lol</p>
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<p>Also if anyone cares, I just made a Twitter solely for AO3 stuff, I'll probably just use it for memes and fic updates, but would love for requests/feedback/suggestions/etc. So if that interests anyone at all you can follow or message me on Twitter! (@the_unf0rtunate)<br/> </p>
<p>As always a very special thank you to anyone who's still reading!🖤🖤🖤</p>
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